Batman Begins
by Dede42
Summary: When his parents were killed, billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne relocates to Asia when he is mentored by Henri Ducard and Ra's Al Ghul in how to fight evil. When learning about the plan to wipe out evil in Gotham City by Ducard, Bruce prevents this plan from getting any further and heads back to his home, and save his city from evil as the Batman.
1. Prelude: HEROES

Batman Begins: The First Mission

A/N: I present you with the start of The Dark Knight Arch! I hope you all enjoy it and let me know what you think.

Read, review, and enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from _Batman_ or from _Batman Begins;_ I only own the characters that I created.

* * *

 **PRELUDE: HEROES**

Some heroes are born, some are created, and some choose to become heroes because of events outside of their control; those who choose to join the police force, become firefighters, or even join the army, military, navy, or even the marines are all heroes in their own way.

On September 11th, 2001, the firefighters and police officers who gave their lives to save others that day are heroes, along with the survivors who tell their stories to others, and even the two soldiers that went to New York City to help at ground zero are heroes, too.

Those who become heroes may do it because of powers they develop or are born with, or because of skills they have; when these people become heroes, they might choose to help those who are unable to help themselves, as a way to help the police, or become heroes because of events outside of their control.

How one becomes a hero doesn't really matter, but the help that they provide _does_ matter, and that is the thing that only matters to those who help others.

* * *

A/N: Yes, yes, it's short, but the story will go into full swing next week. R&R everyone!


	2. Chapter 1: THE OFFER

Batman Begins: The First Mission

A/N: I'm back with the first full chapter for you all to enjoy, and please let me know what you think.

Read, review, and enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from _Batman_ or from _Batman Begins;_ I only own the characters that I created.

* * *

 **CHAPTER ONE: THE OFFER**

Behind a massive Gothic mansion was a beautiful summer garden with sunlight shining through the trees and there was the sound of children laughing; running through the garden was a eight-year-old boy, who was chasing a eight-year-old girl, and she disappeared into a Victorian greenhouse with the boy pausing in the doorway, catching his breath.

"Rachel! Let me see!" he called out, entering the greenhouse, peering around the potted plants and under the tables until he found Rachel Dawes, who pulled him under the table as a female voice rang out from the gardens.

 _`"_ _Rachel?! Master Bruce?!_ _"`_ Mrs. Dawes, Rachel's mother and housekeeper of Wayne Manor, called out, walking past the greenhouse, and the kids quietly giggled.

"Come on, Rachel," Bruce Wayne requested, nodding to her hands, which were clasped over something, "can I see?"

Smiling, Rachel opened her hands, revealing an aged arrowhead she'd just found. "Finders keepers – I found it."

"In _my_ garden," Bruce pointed out, but he was also smiling; it was well-known that the islands that both Gotham and Wayne Manor were built upon, were once owned by a tribe of Indians known as the Deer People and, according to legends, an off-shoot tribe known as the Bat People, who had once lived in a series of caves before dying out, and so it wasn't unusual to find relics from the tribes.

Rachel just stuck her tongue out at her friend, who then swiped the arrowhead and ran out the backdoor of the greenhouse.

"Finders keepers!"

"Bruce!" Rachel ran after him. "Come back here with that! I found it first! Bruce!"

* * *

Having a head start, Bruce ducked behind several overgrown bushes and climbed on top of an old well that'd been sealed shut, ignoring the creaking of the old wood; he crouched there, stifling a laugh as Rachel searched for him.

"Bruce? Bruce where are you?"

' _She'll_ never _find me,'_ Bruce thought, grinning as she drew closer-

 _CRACK!_

Bruce let out a startled cry as the boards broke and he plummeted into the well; he fell about thirty feet and landed on the bottom, crying out as his left arm seemed to explode with pain when he landed on it.

* * *

Hearing the sounds of breaking wood and Bruce's cry, Rachel ran toward the sound, found the well, and peered inside spotting the eight-year-old boy sprawled on the bottom, covered with bits of broken wood and dead plants. "Bruce?!" she cried out and was relieved when he lifted his head and looked up at her. "I'm going to get help!" and she ran back toward the mansion. "Mom! Mister Alfred!"

* * *

Now alone, Bruce groaned at the throbbing pain in his arm when a small squeaking sound reached his ears; ignoring the pain, he sat up slightly and peered at a large crack that was located in one of the walls as there were more squeaking sounds, which were getting closer and closer.

Suddenly hundreds of bats exploded out of the crack and engulfed him; screaming, Bruce swatted at them, trying to cover his head as they flapped, squawked, and fluttered against him, heading toward the opening high above-

* * *

Gasping, a much older Bruce Wayne, now twenty-eight years old and had a beard, woke and stared up at the stone ceiling while lying on a cot; seated nearby was an old Asian man, who was watching him, and had made a point of taking the young American under his wing the moment he was thrown into the Chinese prison months before.

"A dream?" the old man asked in perfect English.

Bruce sighed as the last of the dream/memory faded away. "A nightmare," he corrected, sitting up with a slight groan.

"Worse then this?" the old man inquired, nodding to the tiny cell that they shared, which was connected to other cells, filled with prisoners of all sizes and built.

Bruce looked around, noting that a heavyset Chinese man with facial scars was glaring at him, and then shrugged before standing up.

* * *

Soon, Bruce, the old man, and the other prisoners were lead out into the main courtyard, which was covered in mud and snow, and headed toward the line for their morning breakfast, which was basically a gruel that barely filled their stomachs; as they watched, Bruce noted the location of the guards, who were scattered around the place, and were all Chinese: he was the only American in the entire place.

* * *

Now in the line for breakfast, the old man nodded to the heavyset man, who was heading their way with a group of other tough-looking men. "They are going to fight you," he warned.

"Again?" Bruce asked with a hint of exasperation, holding a battered metal bowl in one hand. "I fought them yesterday."

"They will fight you every day," the old man stated. "Until they kill you."

' _Joy,'_ Bruce thought grimly and watched as the cook dumped a scoop of watery gruel into the bowl. "Can't they kill me _before_ breakfast?" he wondered and turned to find the heavyset man glaring down at him, and barely flinched when he knocked the battered bowl away. _'Well, looks like my wish will be coming true.'_

The heavyset man then grabbed the young American by his longish brown hair and pulled him close, his breath sour. "You are in _hell_ , little man," he snarled in broken English and punched Bruce in the face _hard_ , knocking him down, "and _I_ ," he continued, pulling him back up, "am the devil." And he smashed his fist into the young man's face again, knocking him back down.

Bleeding from his nose and his mouth, Bruce got back up and dusted himself off with hot angry burning in his eyes. "You're not the devil," he growled as the heavyset man swung again, and he caught the guy's fist this time; he then punched him back, kicked him in the knee so that he went down, and then he booted him in the face, "you're practice."

The six prisoners rushed Bruce all at once and he fought skillfully and hard, flipping one prisoner into another, kicking as his arms were held; he pushed off the table, sending them all tumbling into the muddy yard below, and he continued fighting, dragging, kicking, and punching the prisoners until the guards broke it up by shooting into the air.

Breathing hard, Bruce didn't move until he was grabbed by two of the guards and they dragged him away toward the building, followed by a third guard, who was scowling. "Solitary!" he ordered in perfect English.

"Why?" Bruce asked indignantly since he was victim and had been defending himself.

"For protection," the guard answered.

"I don't need protection," Bruce protested.

The guard glared at the young man and pointed back at the prisoners, who were still sprawled in the mud. "Protection for _them_."

* * *

It wasn't long before Bruce was tossed head-first into a cell and the door slammed shut and locked; groaning and muttering to himself, he stood, and made his way over to a leaking faucet with the hope of getting at least _some_ of the mud off.

"Are you so desperate to fight criminals that you lock yourself in to take them on one at a time?" a man voice with a accent that sounded European, but wasn't, asked from a corner of the dark cell.

Startled, Bruce turned and squinted into the shadows, where he could see the faint outline of a tall man standing under the archway. "I thought the point of solitary confinement was the solitary part," he pointed out and then knelt next to the faucet. "And there were seven of them," he added.

The man chuckled. "I counted six, _Mr. Wayne_ ," he stated.

Bruce froze and stared at the man as he stepped into the light, revealing that he was a tall, bearded man with graying brown hair, dark eyes, and was dressed in a well-cut grey suit and matching tie. "How do you know my name?" he asked warily, especially since he hadn't told _anyone_ his name since being locked up.

"The world is too small for someone like Bruce Wayne to disappear…" he gestured around at the cell. "No matter how deep he chooses to sink."

Bruce eyed the older man warily. "Who are you?" he asked.

"My name is merely Ducard," Henri Ducard answered. "But I speak for Ra's Al Ghul. A man greatly feared by the criminal underworld. A man who can offer you a path."

Bruce raised his eyebrows at this, having heard the name mentioned from time to time by others, and usually in awe and fear. "What makes you think I need a path?" he questioned.

Henri smiled. "Some like you is only here by choice," he explained, moving closer as Bruce tried to get the mud off his hands and face with the limited amount of water that was dripping from the faucet. "You've been exploring the criminal fraternity," he added, "but whatever your original intentions…you've become truly _lost_." And noted how the young man avoided making eye contact with him, proving him right on all accounts.

"What path does Ra's al Ghul offer?" Bruce asked quietly.

"The path of one who shares his hatred of evil and wishes to serve true justice," Henri responded gently, kneeling down. "The path of the League of Shadows."

"The League of Assassins?" Bruce repeated, confused and finally made eye contact with the older man. "You're vigilantes," he added dismissively; he knew that they were referred to as assassins that have been around for a _very_ long time, and that they were feared by the criminal underworld.

Henri shook his head. "A vigilante is just a man lost in the scramble for his own gratification," he corrected. "He can be destroyed, or locked up" and he indicated the cell. "But if you make yourself more then just a man…if you devote yourself to an ideal…if they can't stop you…then you become something else entirely."

Bruce pondered this as the older man stood up and walked over to the cell's door. "Which is?" he asked.

"A legend, Mr. Wayne," Henri responded, knocking on the door. "Tomorrow you'll be released," he explained. "If you're bored of brawling with thieves and want to _achieve_ something, there's a rare flower – a blue poppy – that grows on the Eastern slopes. Pick one of these flowers. If you can carry it to the top of the mountain, you may find what you were looking for in the first place."

"And what am I looking for?" Bruce asked as the door opened.

Henri looked at him, with a glint in his eyes. "Only you can know that." He then left and the door was slammed shut, leaving the young American to his thoughts.

Would he dare risk carry a flower up a mountain for purpose or move on to other places, followed by the risk of being arrested…again?

* * *

A/N: Hmm, which choice do you think Bruce will make? Let me know! R&R everyone!


	3. Chapter 2: TRAINING

Batman Begins: The First Mission

A/N: I'm back and it's time to get this story moving. Plus, I'll be introducing two original characters known as Philip and Julia Pearson, and they have important parts to play in the future.

Read, review, and enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from _Batman_ or from _Batman Begins;_ I only own the characters that I created.

* * *

 **CHAPTER TWO: TRAINING**

The next morning, the guards dragged Bruce out of the cell and into the back of a guard truck; soon he was tossed out onto a road far from the prison, along with a bag filled with some meager supplies.

Sore and annoyed, Bruce picked himself up, put the bag on his shoulder, and looked around before heading to the east, toward a tall mountain in the distance; having pulled on a thick overcoat that'd been in the bag, he soon reached a field of the blue poppies.

Kneeling down, he picked one of the flowers and studied its brilliant blue in the cold sunshine; placing it in a buttonhole near the collar of the coat, Bruce straightened it and began his trek up the slope of the mountain.

* * *

Several days later, he was about halfway up the mountain when he came upon a tiny hamlet; he was exhausted, cold, and hungry, and when the locals saw him, they all ran inside and locked the doors on their homes.

Bruce was confused by their actions and then a small girl appeared from behind one of the buildings. "No one will help you," she told him in perfect English, pointing to the flower he was wearing, and then an old man appeared next to her.

"I need food," he requested weakly, hoping that the old man would be able to help.

The old man shook his head and motioned back the way that he'd came while sending the girl into the nearby house. "Then turn back," he advised before heading into the house himself.

Bruce watched him go, realizing that he wasn't going to get any help, and then resumed his trek up the mountain, determined to make it.

* * *

Bruce had lost track of the time, unsure of how long he'd been climbing through the driving snow; a scarf wrapped around his head, he cleared a ridge and nearly face-planted into the snow, beyond exhausted.

Struggling to stay conscious, Bruce pushed himself up and through the cutting wind, he saw a massive monastery perched on a jagged rock; getting back onto his feet, he staggered toward the building.

* * *

Reaching the fortified monastery, Bruce made his way up the steps to the vast doors and knocked on one of them several times with a frostbitten and covered hand; at first nothing happen and then there was grinding noise from within, and the doors swung open.

He entered the building, relieved by the warmth and removed the scarf from around his head as he walked past pillars that had torches and candles on them; at the far end of the hallway, there was a raised platform with a throne on it, and seated on it was a red-robbed man, who was bald and had a long white goatee, a long white mustache, and white eyebrows over dark eyes.

"Ra's al Ghul?" Bruce asked, his voice hoarse and raw and turned slightly when the doors were closed behind him, and he saw a man in black armor slid a wooden barrier into place, locking them in; soon more armed warriors of various races entered with rifles, and he warily watched them all, starting to have second thoughts.

"Wait." Henri stepped from behind a pillar and the warriors stopped their advances while Bruce faced the older man; Ra's al Ghul spoke, it was in Urdu and he translated. "'What are you seeking'?" he asked the young man, who carefully removed the blue poppy from his coat and handed it over with shaking hands.

"I – I seek…the means to fight injustice," Bruce rasped. "To turn fear against those who prey on the fearful…"

Henri took the blue poppy and showed it to Ra's al Ghul, who nodded and spoke again, still in Urdu, and he translated while placing the flower in his buttonhole. "'To manipulate the fears of others you must first master your own'," he explained, moving until he was directly in front of Bruce. "Are you ready to begin?" he asked.

Bruce stared at him, askance at the question being asked. They wanted to start training _now_? When he was shaking from hunger and fatigue? "Ready? I…I can barely-" he began.

Henri suddenly kicked the young man, sending him tumbling across the wooden floor. "Death does not wait for you to be ready!" he snarled, striding across the hall and slammed his foot into Bruce's ribs when he tried to get back up. "Death is not considerate, or fair. And make no mistake – here, you face death." He walked away and then whipped back around, aiming his leg toward the young man's neck-

Bruce suddenly straightened and blocked the kick, gripping the leg with his arms, and he glared at the older man with anger blazing in his eyes; Henri saw this and he smiled as the young man released his grip and moved into a martial stance.

"Tiger," said Henri as he launched a new attack at Bruce, who fought to block and parry the strikes while trying to ignore the pain in his body. "Crane…Ju Jitsu…" he smiled as he pinned the young man's arm in a awkward position for a moment before shoving him away. "Skilled. But this is not a dance-" he grabbed Bruce again and head-butted him while the young man struggled to fight back. "Facing death you learn the truth…" he kept pounding him. "You are weak…you are alone…" he knocked Bruce to the floor and he stayed down. "And you are afraid…"

Henri knelt down next to the young man, who was bleeding badly, and was slowly passing out. "But not of me," he muttered, curious; he removed the flower from his suit, leaned in close, replaced it on the coat, covered it, and gently patted the cloth. "Tell us, Wayne," he whispered. "What _do_ you fear?" and watched as Bruce slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

 _`"'Bruce is curl up in a ball, whimpers as the last of the bats fly away, and he is scare stiff._

 _`"'Bruce?"_

 _`"'He looks up and sees his father, Thomas, lowers himself into the well on a rope with his long coat, which bellows behind him.'_

 _`"'It's okay," Thomas tells his son when he reaches the bottom of the well and takes his son's hand. "It's okay." And he lifts his son out of the well, and carries him back to the house with a fifty-year-old man in a butler suit, Alfred Pennyworth, at his side and carries the coiled rope and harness in one hand.'_

 _`"'_ _Will we be needing an ambulance, Master Wayne_ _?" Alfred asks as they walk up the stairs toward the back of the manor.'_

 _`"'_ _I'll set the bone," Thomas tells him. "Then take him for x-rays later_ _."_

 _`"'_ _Very good, sir," Alfred says as they pass Mrs_ _. Dawes, who is apologizing for letting the accident happen, and_ _Rachel, who is upset and Bruce gives her the arrowhead back_ _; they enter the house and Alfred leaves to put away the rope and harness while Thomas heads to the stairs and Martha appears, distraught.'_

 _`"'_ _He'll be fine_ _," Thomas assures her, "it's just a small fracture.'"`_

* * *

 _`"'Later, Alfred checks on Bruce, who is in his bed in his room. "_ _Took quite a fall, didn't we_ _?" he asks kindly and with a smile as Bruce looks at him and returns the smile. "_ _And why do we fall, Master Bruce_ _?" he asks and opens the curtain. "_ _So that we might better learn to pick ourselves up_ _.'"`_

* * *

 _`"'A few weeks passes with the arm fully heal, and Bruce wakes up from a nightmare and is breathing hard when his father enters his son's bedroom.'_

 _`"'The bats again?" Thomas asks gently, and Bruce nods; he then walks to the bed and sits down on it. "_ _You know why they attacked you?" he asks and Bruce shakes his head_ _._ _"They were afraid of you_ _.'_

 _`"'Afraid of me?" Bruce repeats and he is surprise by this. The bats are scared of him?'_

 _`"'Thomas nods. "_ _You're a lot bigger than a bat, aren't you? All creatures feel fear_ _.'_

 _`"'Bruce smiles. "_ _Even the scary ones_ _?'_

 _`"'Thomas nods and pulls a black case out of his dressing gown pocket. "_ Especially _the scary ones," he agrees. "Here, let me show you something – but you can't tell anyone, right_ _?" and Bruce nods eagerly; he opens the case and reveals a beautiful pearl necklace that is very old and very well cared for_ _. "For your mother_ _," he adds as his son fingers it and he winks before closing the case again.'"`_

* * *

 _`"'Later that day, the Wayne's ride a brand new monorail through the shiny buildings of Gotham, and Bruce watches through a window, wearing a tux; his parents sit across from him, also dressed up, and Martha wears the pearls around her neck, which she strokes and smiles.'_

 _`"'_ _Did you build this train, Dad_ _?" Bruce asks eagerly.'_

 _`"'Thomas chuckles at his son's interest in the family business. "_ _Your great-grandfather built the first trains in Gotham," he explains. "The city's been good to our family – but now the city's suffering_ _. People less fortunate than us are enduring very hard times. So…" He then draws a circle in the condensation on the window. "_ _We built a new public transportation system for the whole city_ _" he draws spokes through the circle and turns it into a wheel as he points to a tall building, originally constructed back in 1888, in the distance "_ _and at the center... Wayne Tower_ _."_

 _`"'Bruce watches as the train turns a corner and heads for the central station that is located at the base of the tower. "Is that where you work?" he asks as the building grows nearer.'_

 _`"'No, I work at the hospital," Thomas answers. "I leave the running of the business to much_ better _men."_

 _`"'Better?" Bruce repeats, confuse.'_

 _`"'Well, more_ interested _men," Thomas amends as they arrive at the station.'_

 _`"'Wayne Station. Wayne Station next.'"`_

* * *

 _`"'At the Gotham Opera house, a gilded building that is packed to the rafters for Boito's Mefistofle, and the Wayne's sit in one of the balconies so that they have a good view of the stage, and Bruce sits between his parents, and feels nervous since he is the only kid there; on the stage, the performers in their dark costumes, sing in Italian, dance and move across the stage, and ten others climb ropes and swing, spin, and roll about in their black bat/bird costumes.'_

 _`"'Bruce shivers at the sight of the outfits, uneasy by their violent movements, and the memory of the bats in the well begin to rise up, even though he tries to push it down and bury it; he begins to panic and looks around, but they are in the middle of the row, and so he turns to his father for help. "Can we go?" he whispers and Thomas gives him a curious look. "_ Please _?"_

 _`"'Thomas realizes that his son is scared, he recognizes the signs of an impending panic attack, and nods. 'Guess it was too soon for something like this.' He glances at Martha, who looks worriedly at Bruce, and nods; she understands and they quietly leave, excusing themselves to the other people in the row, who allow them to pass.'"`_

* * *

 _`"'The Wayne's exit through a side door and into a side alley that is dark, dirty, and filled with trash; Martha pulls on her coat and looks at Bruce, who is looking ashamed for ruining the evening.'_

 _`"'Bruce, what's wrong?" she asks kindly.'_

 _`"'He's fine," says Thomas, who winks at their son behind his wife's back. "_ _I just needed a bit of air. Bit of opera goes a long way, right, Bruce_ _?" and Bruce smiles gratefully. "Come on."_

 _`"'With his coat over his arm, Thomas guilds them toward the front of the alley, where they could see the lights of the city, and that is when a man with a gun comes out of the shadows and blocks their way; he is run-downed, desperate-matted hair, and is clearly a druggie from the way he is shaking, not from cold, but from the need of another fix. "_ _Wallet, jewelry! Fast_ _!" he orders and waves the gun a bit.'_

 _`"'That's fine," says Thomas calmly, hands his coat to his son, and slowly reaches for his wallet while the man moves the gun between him and Martha, "just take it easy. Here you go." He then hands his wallet to the man, who fumbles for it, and it lands on the damp ground, and this makes both Bruce and Martha cringe a little. "_ _It's fine, it's fine_ _," he repeats as the man crouches down to collect the wallet, "_ _just take it and go_ _."_

 _`"'The man grabs the wallet and straightens up, but his eyes are fix on the pearls around Martha's neck. "_ _I said jewelry_ _!" he snaps and moves forward for the necklace.'_

 _`"'Thomas quickly moves between the man and his wife, not wanting to lose the pearls since they are a family heirloom. "Hey, just-"_

 _`"'The gun goes off and makes them all jump, and to Bruce's horror, Thomas crumbles to the ground, blood oozing from the hole in his chest; Martha screams and kneels next to her dying husband. "Thomas! Thomas!"_

 _`"'The man panics and reaches for the pearls. "Gimme me the damn-" and the gun goes off again, cutting off her screams, and she slumps to the ground, the necklace breaks, and the pearls scatter across the ground; the man stares in shock at what he has done, locks eyes with Bruce, who is in shock, and then runs for it.'_

 _`"'Bruce drops to his knees and grasps his father's hand with his own, and starts to shiver.'_

 _`"'Bruce, Bruce," Thomas whispers and his son looks at him as he squeezes his hand for the last time, "it's okay. Don't be afraid." And then his eyes slid shut and he stops breathing; Bruce clings to his father's hand and cries all alone in the alleyway.'"`_

* * *

 _`"'Bruce is unsure of just how much time has pass, only that he sits all alone in an office of the police station, clutches his father's coat while the cops and police captain Loeb are out in the hallway with the reporters, who want a piece of what they call the crime of the decade, and several times, men arm with cameras try to take a picture of him through the glass.'_

 _`"'He looks up when a young cop, Jim Gordon, approaches him and kneels down in front of him.'_

 _`"'_ _Is that your father's_ _?" Gordon asks, reaches for the coat and pauses when the boy cringes away. "It's okay," he says reassuringly and smiles when Bruce relaxes at the familiar and comforting words; he takes the coat, drapes it around the boy's shoulders, and then gently strokes his tear-stain face. "It's okay."_

 _`"'Just then a balding black man, whose name is Gillian B. Loeb, enters the room and scowls when he sees Gordon. "Gordon!" he snaps and this scares Bruce. "_ _You gotta stick your nose into everything!_ _" he frowns when Gordon shoots him a look and nods to the door. "_ _Outta my sight_ _."_

 _`"'Reluctantly Gordon stands and leaves the room, despite Bruce's pleading expression for him to stay; once the young cop is gone, Loeb smiles at the young boy.'_

 _`"'_ _Good new," he tells him "we got him, son._ _" And Bruce looks at him dazed.'"`_

* * *

 _`"'One week later, Thomas and Martha Wayne are buried in the family plot and the mourners disperse, guide by security guards through the rain and back to Wayne Manor; Alfred and Bruce stand in front of the manor, with the old butler holds the umbrella over the boy's head as the mourners head for the various black cars and limos.'_

 _`"'A man with white hair and dark eyes approaches the duo and lowers his own umbrella as he speaks to Bruce and nods to Alfred. "_ _You're in excellent hands, Bruce," William Earle tells him." And we're minding the empire. When you're all grown up, it'll be waiting_ _," he adds, shakes the boy's hand and then walks away_ _.'_

 _`"'A couple approaches them next, and the man, who has silvering black hair, green eyes, kneels and places a hand on Bruce's shoulder while his wife, who has brown hair that is gradually turning white with grey eyes, remains standing with her umbrella firmly in her hands. "Bruce," said Philip Pearson gently, "I want you to know that if you and Alfred ever need_ anything _, let me and Julia know, and we will help_ _." And Bruce weakly smiles in response while Alfred nods.'_

 _`"'Thank you, sir.'"`_

* * *

 _`"'Bruce goes inside the mansion and watches as the last of the mourners drive away through the front gates; he sees Rachel and her mom walk to one of the remaining black cars she looks up in time to see him watching, and waves up to him. Bruce waves back and watches as they drive away and the gates close behind them.'_

 _`"'Alfred enters the bedroom and looks at the boy, who is still staring out the window. "_ _I thought I'd prepare a little supper_ _," he offers and waits a moment before he turns to go when he doesn't get an answer. "Very well."_

 _`"'Alfred," said Bruce and turns from the window with tears running down his cheeks as the butler faces him.'_

 _`"'Master Bruce?"_

 _`"'_ _It was my fault, Alfred_ _," Bruce cries. "_ _I made them leave the theater_ _-"_

 _`"'_ _Oh, no, no, no_ _," Alfred protests, walks forward and takes the boy into his arms as he continues to blame himself.'_

 _`"'_ _If I hadn't got scared_ _-"_

 _`"'_ _No, no, Master Bruce," Alfred interrupts. "Nothing you did. Nothing anyone_ ever _did can excuse that man_ _." And he looks directly into Bruce's eyes. "_ _It's his, and his alone. Do you understand_ _?"_

 _`"'Bruce nods and then buries his face into the old man's shoulder and continues to cry. "_ _I miss them, Alfred," he weeps. "I miss them_ so _much_ _."_

 _`"'_ _So do I, Master Bruce," Alfred whispers and hugs him close." So do I_ _.'"`_

* * *

"And do you still feel responsible?" Henri, now wearing a black snow coat over black clothes, asked Bruce, who was now clean-shaven with his hair cut to a manageable length, his hands and feet bandaged after being treated with medication to counteract the frostbite, and was wrapped up in a blanket, as he led him through the exterior halls of the monastery.

"My anger outweighs my guilt," Bruce responded, glancing at the view of the impressive snow-covered mountains.

Henri raised his eyebrows at this and led the younger man into the main chamber, where the league were sparing in various groupings around the different levels, and some ninjas were hanging upside down on some pillars; the older man went to one of the ninjas, took the gloved hand and showed Bruce that there were spikes built into the glove.

"The Ninja is thought invisible," he explained. "But invisibility is largely a matter of patience."

* * *

Henri then lead Bruce onto a mezzanine level, which was stacked with boxes, bags, and bottles; several ninjas were busy pouring various powders into packets and mixing up compounds, and Bruce was certain he could smell gunpowder, a smell that had haunted his nightmares for years.

Henri carefully scooped up some of the dark powder from an open bag with a scoop, took a pinch and threw it at Bruce's feet, making him jump when it exploded with a _bang,_ and smiled. "Advanced techniques of Ninjitsu employ explosive powders," he explained.

"As weapons?" Bruce asked.

"Or distractions," said Henri. "Theatricality and deception are _powerful_ agents." He then offered the scoop to Bruce, who carefully took a pinch of the dark powder. "To be a great warrior is not enough," he added. "Flesh and blood, however skilled, can be destroyed… you must be more than just a man in the minds of your opponents."

Bruce considered all of this as he threw the powder on the floor with another _bang_.

* * *

For a whole year, Henri Ducard personally trained Bruce and taught him many things; one day, the older man led him onto the surface of a frozen lake, where they practiced sword fighting, using black gauntlets that had three hook-like blades called scallops, to block the blades, while the surface groaned and creaked beneath their feet, and this forced them to watch their footing at the same time.

"Mind your surrounding," Henri advised at one point, having sent the younger man skidding across the ice toward a thin patch. "Always." And they resumed fighting for several minutes before breaking apart, and he walked away, leaving Bruce confused. "Your parents' death was not your fault," he said, and then spun back around and launched an attack that the younger man was just barely able to deflect, using his gauntlets.

Henri caught the blade of Bruce's sword with his own gauntlet and pinned it. "It was your _father's_ ," he hissed and then twisted his arm so that the sword went flying across the ice; Bruce yelled angrily and launched himself at the older man, punching, kicking, and slashing the freezing air with his gauntlets, and Henri avoided them all, knocking him down again. "Anger does not change the fact that your father failed to act," he added, pinning him to the ice by twisting his arm behind his back.

"The man had a gun," Bruce grunted, trying to free himself from Henri's grip on his arm, which was starting to throb.

Henri scoffed, released his grip, and turned away again. "Would that stop you?"

"I've had training," Bruce pointed out, getting to his feet once again, struggling with his anger at what was being said about his father, who was still a hero in his own mind.

"The training is _nothing_!" Henri shouted, attacking Bruce again with his sword. "The will is _everything_. Your father trusted his city, its logic…he _thought_ he understood the attacker and could simply give him what he wanted." And he knocked the younger man down to the ice once again, and his tone became gentle as Bruce struggled to his feet once again. "Your father did not understand the forces of decay," he explained, "cities like Gotham are in their death throes – chaotic, grotesque. Beyond saving."

Bruce stared at him, surprised. "Beyond saving?" he repeated, shocked. "You believe that?"

Henri didn't answer right away, instead he gestured to the harshly beautiful landscape that currently surrounded them. "It is not right that one must come so far to see the world as it is meant to be," he explained. "Purity. Serenity… Solitude. These are the qualities we hold dear. But the important thing is whether _you_ believe it." He sighed wistfully. "Can Gotham can be saved, or is she an ailing ancestor whose time has run?"

Before Bruce could answer, Henri swung his sword at the younger man once again, but this time, he blocked the strike with his forearms crossed, and then slid between the older man's legs, across the ice and toward his sword; grasping his sword, he spun, swept Henri's legs from underneath him, causing him to fall onto the ice, and Bruce jumped up, thrust his sword at Henri's throat and stopped, merely inches away, and grinned. "Yield."

Henri heard the ice starting to crack and he shook his head, smiling at his student's mistake. "You haven't beaten me," he countered. "You've sacrificed sure footing for a killing stroke." He then tapped the ice with his blade – the ice shattered and Bruce plunged into the icy cold water below with an expression of alarm on his face.

* * *

It was evening by the time that Henri got Bruce out of the water and onto the shore, where the young man was now bundled up in a blanket and was shivering violently against developing hypothermia while rubbing his arms; Henri was seated across from him, feeding sticks into a small fire.

"Don't rub your arms, rub your chest," he advised. "Your arms'll take care of themselves." And he watched as Bruce followed his instructions while still feeding the fire. "You're stronger than your father."

Bruce snorted, still upset with the jabs at his father's name. "You didn't know my father."

"But I know the rage that drives you…that impossible anger strangling the grief until your loved one's memory is just poison in your veins," Henri countered as his expression became distant, his mind turning to some distant memory. "And one day you catch yourself wishing the person you loved had never existed so you'd be spared your pain…" and then became aware that Bruce was looking at him with surprise on his young face. "I wasn't always here in the mountains," he explained wistfully. "Once I had a wife. My great love. She was taken from me. Like you, I was forced to learn that there are those without decency. Who must be fought without hesitation or pity." He then looked at the younger man. "Your anger gives you great power, but if you let it, it will destroy you. As it almost did me."

Bruce nodded, knowing the feeling _very_ well. "What stopped it?" he asked.

"Vengeance."

Bruce sighed. "That's no help to me," he muttered.

"Why, Wayne?" Henri asked quietly. "Why could you not avenge your parents?"

Bruce looked away, unbidden as the memories surfaced, the memories from the day that he made a choice that changed his life in a completely different way.

* * *

A/N: And I shall now leave you all with a cliffy! *smiles evilly* R&R everyone!


	4. Chapter 3: REVENGE AND JUSTICE

Batman Begins: The First Mission

A/N: Greetings, I'm back! Thank you to highlander348 for the review and the suggestion that I'm thinking of using at a later date.

Read, review, and enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from _Batman_ or from _Batman Begins;_ I only own the characters that I created.

* * *

 **CHAPTER THREE: REVENGE AND JUSTICE**

 _`"'It has been fourteen years since the death of Thomas and Martha Wayne and in that time, Bruce is now a young man at age 22, and he rides the monorail to Wayne station; he picks up his bag and gets off the train with the other passengers, he searches the crowd until he sees Alfred and waves to him.'_

 _`"'_ _You didn't have to pick me up_ _," Bruce points out when Alfred reaches his side and takes his bag.'_

 _`"'_ _Well, sir, the red line…well, it's closed," Alfred explains hesitantly. "Apparently Mr_ _._ _Earle thought it wasn't making enough money_ _."_

 _`"'Bruce is shocked by the news as they walk through the concourse and he looks around, sadden at how rundown his father's station looks with the glass cracked, the marble chipped, and homeless bundled shuttered storefronts; he peers through one of the windows up at Wayne Tower, which looms overhead with gold lettering catching the sunlight. 'How_ dare _he do something like this to my father's hard work.'_

 _`"'How is Mr. Earle?" he asks.'_

 _`"'Oh…successful," Alfred answers sourly, clearly disapproving of the man's choices when it comes to the Wayne legacy.'"`_

* * *

 _`"'Later they are in the Rolls Royce and Alfred drives them back to Wayne Manor; as he drives, he glances at Bruce through the rear-view mirror. "_ _Will you be heading back to Princeton tomorrow or could I persuade you to spend an extra night or two_ _?" he asks with faint hope that he would stay a bit for once.'_

 _`"'_ _I'm not heading back at all_ _," Bruce answers with a grim expression.'_

 _`"'This news surprises Alfred. "_ _You don't like it there_ _?" he inquires._

 _`"'Bruce smiles sardonically and looks out the window at the trees that are flashing by. "_ _I like it fine," he responds, "they just don't feel the same way_ _."_

 _`"'Alfred sighs, irritate. 'Not again.'"`_

* * *

 _`"'Alfred and Bruce walk up the main staircase together while the rest of the house is dark and empty, with most of the furniture is covered with dust-cloths.'_

 _`"'_ _I've prepared the master bedroom_ _," Alfred informs the young man with some faint hope that he will_ actually _stay in there this time.'_

 _`"'Bruce shakes his head. "_ _My old room will be fine_ _." He has no intention of sleeping in his parents' bedroom.'_

 _`"'_ _With all due respect, sir," Alfred says sternly, "Wayne Manor is_ your _house_ _."_

 _`"'_ _No, Alfred, it's my father's," Bruce says irritated_ _._

 _`"'Alfred frowns. "Your father is dead, Master Wayne."_

 _`"'And this is a mausoleum," Bruce states. "When I have my way I'll pull the damn thing down brick by brick_ _."_

 _`"'This is the last straw and Alfred turns on the young man. "_ _This house,_ Master Wayne _," he snaps, "has sheltered six generations of the Wayne family_ _."_

 _`"'_ _Why do you give a damn?" Bruce asks_ _. "It's not_ your _family." And he immediately regrets his words when the older man looks away, hurt.'_

 _`"'I give a damn, sir," Alfred says quietly, "because a good man once made me responsible for what was most precious to him in the whole world." And he fixes the young man with a look that says he cares for him. "Miss Dawes offered to drive you to the hearing," he adds.'_

 _`"'Rachel? Why?" Bruce asks, surprise.'_

 _`"'Alfred shrugs. "She probably hopes to talk you out of going."_

 _`"'Bruce sighs. "Should I just bury the past out there with my parents, Alfred?" he asks, voicing his own doubts.'_

 _`"'I don't presume to tell you what to do with your past, sir," the butler responds. "Just know that there are those of us who care what you do with your future."_

 _`"'Bruce finally smiles. "_ _Haven't given up on me, yet_ _?" he asks.'_

 _`"'Never," Alfred says with conviction and they reach the hallway, where he hands the young man his bag and walks away with a smile of his own.'"`_

* * *

 _`"'Instead of his room, Bruce enters the master bedroom, places his bag on the bed, and then looks around the room, which hasn't change in the slightest for the past fourteen years, and still holds all of his parents' things, and this includes his father's stethoscope; he moves over to a mantel and stares at a framed photograph of him as a kid on his father's shoulders with his arms up in triumph, and then he wipes the dust off the glass and smiles at it and the happy memories connected to it.'_

 _`"'He then moves back to his bed and opens his bag; he takes out a shirt and sets it aside to reveal a handgun, which he picks up, checks to be sure that it is loaded, and then stuffs it into the pocket of his coat. 'I'm sorry, Alfred, but I have to do it.''`_

* * *

 _`"'Bruce heads back to the main floor and enters the kitchen, where Rachel, now in her twenties, stands in front of a counter and fingers some tomatoes in a crate.'_

 _`"'You know, Alfred still keeps the condensed milk on the top shelf," he points out and Rachel smiles, and recalls all the time they would steal the condensed milk and have both her mom and Alfred after them.'_

 _`"'Hasn't he noticed that you're tall enough to reach it by now?" Rachel asks and smiles.'_

 _`"'Bruce shrugs with his own smile. "Old habits die hard I guess," he admits.'_

 _`"'Never used to stop us, anyway," Rachel adds.'_

 _`"'Bruce smiles at the memory. "No, no, it didn't."_

 _`"'Rachel nods. "_ _So, you still trying to get kicked out of the entire Ivy League_ _?" she guesses.'_

 _`"'Bruce shrugs. "_ _Turns out you don't actually need a degree to do the international playboy thing," he confesses_ _. "But you…intern at the DA's office…quite the over-achiever."_

 _`"'Rachel giggles and her smile turns sad. "_ _I miss this place_ _."_

 _`"'This place is nothing without the people who made it what it was," Bruce says sadly. "Now there's only Alfred."_

 _`"'And you," Rachel adds hopefully.'_

 _`"'I'm not staying, Rachel," Bruce informs her and her hope turns into disappointment.'_

 _`"'Oh. I thought maybe this time…" Rachel sighs "but you're just back for the hearing?" and he nods. "Bruce, I don't suppose there's any way I can convince you not to come?"_

 _`"'Bruce shakes his head. "_ _Someone at this_ proceeding _should stand for my parents_ _."_

 _`"'_ _Bruce, we all loved your parents," Rachel gently reminds him. "What Chill did is unforgivable_ _-"_

 _`"'_ _Then why is your boss letting him go_ _?" Bruce demands coldly.'_

 _`"'_ _Because in prison he shared a cell with Carmine Falcone," Rachel responds gently. "He learned things and he'll testify in exchange for early parole_ _."_

 _`"'_ _Rachel, this man_ killed _my parents," Bruce protests. "I_ cannot _let that pass." And sighs at the look that his friend gives him_ _. "_ _Rachel, I_ need _you to understand_ _."_

 _`"'Ok," Rachel agrees after a few seconds and they leave together to go to the hearing.'"`_

* * *

 _`"'At the courthouse, Bruce sits in a chair in a courtroom, where the hearing is held in front of a five person panel, and the DA, Finch, addresses the panel while Chill sits next to him.'_

 _`"'The depression hit working people like Mr. Chill hardest of all," Finch tells them. "His crime was appalling, but it was motivated not by greed but by desperation._ _Given the fourteen years already served and his extraordinary level of cooperation with one of this office's most important investigations," Finch adds, "we strongly endorse his petition for early release_ _."_

 _`"'_ _Judge Faden nods and looks at the man in question_ _. "Mr. Chill?" he asks.'_

 _`"'Chill glances around nervously as he stands up to reveal that the years have not been kind, and he clears his throat. "Your honor, not a day's gone by when I didn't wish I could take back what I did," he confesses. "Sure, I was desperate, like a lot of people back then. But that doesn't change what I did." And he sits back down.'_

 _`"'The judge nods again and consults the paperwork before him_ _. "_ _I gather a member of the Wayne family is here today_ _," he says; Chill's eyes go wide with guilt and fear, and he turns to look at the young man in question, who has cold fury in his eyes as he stares at him, "_ _does he have anything to say_ _?"_

 _`"'Chill and Bruce lock eyes, they stare at each other, and then the older man turns away, his guilt gets to him; Bruce stands and leaves the room, and everyone watches him go, including Rachel, who is worry for her friend.'"`_

* * *

 _`"'Bruce waits in the hallway outside the courtroom, turns the gun in his hands before he stuffs it up the sleeve of his coat; seconds later, a door opens and the reporters, who wait near the main doors, spring into action when two cops come out a different door with Chill, who has his head down.'_

 _`"'_ _They're taking him out the side_ _!" one reporter shouts.'_

 _`"'Bruce straightens and starts toward the older man, as the reporters try to get past the cops, and they fire questions at Chill, who avoids eye contact with everyone.'_

 _`"'_ _Chill, any words for the Wayne family_ _?!"_

 _`"'One of the reporters notices Bruce and turns his attention on the young man, taking pictures. "It's Bruce Wayne!"_

 _`"'The reporters start to pull back, eager for an confrontation between the two men, when a blonde woman manages to squeeze past the cops. "_ _Joe! Hey Joe_ _!" and Chill looks up, just as she pulls out a gun. "_ _Falcone says hi_ _!" and she fires the gun directly into his chest.'_

 _`"'Bruce freezes at the sound of the gunshot, Chill drops to the floor in a heap, the reporters dive for cover, and the cops tackle the blonde to the floor; Rachel moves through the crowd as EMTs run in and try to save the life of Chill, and she moves over to Bruce, who is staring at the dying man, his own gun just a cold piece of metal in his hand, forgotten.'_

 _`"'_ _Come one, Bruce," she says and takes his arm to pull him away. "Come on, we don't need to see this_ _."_

 _`"'I do," Bruce says and yanks his arm away, his eyes fix on the scene before him.'"`_

* * *

 _`"'After Chill is confirm dead, Rachel manages to pull Bruce away and out of the courthouse; later they are in her car and Bruce sits and stares at nothing with his hands in his lap, and Rachel is worry as she glances at him several times, upset as she is about losing Chill and losing the DA's best chance at getting Falcone, she is more worry about her friend._

" _Are you okay?" she asks and sighs when she doesn't get a answer. "The DA couldn't understand why Judge Faden insisted on making the hearing public. Falcone paid him off to get Chill out in the open."_

 _`"'Maybe I should be thanking them," Bruce mutters and breaks his silence.'_

 _`"'Rachel doesn't like what she is hearing and says so. "You don't mean that."_

 _`"'_ _What if I do, Rachel?" Bruce asks her bitterly_ _._ _"Chill killed my parents. They deserved justice_ _."_

 _`"'Rachel shakes her head, appall by what she hears. "_ _You're not talking about justice, you're talking about revenge_ _."_

 _`"'_ _Sometimes they're the same_ _," Bruce says emotionlessly and refuses to make eye contact with the young woman._

 _`"'_ _They're_ never _the same, Bruce," Rachel protests. "Justice is about harmony…revenge is about you making yourself_ _feel_ _better. That's why we have an impartial system_ _-"_

 _`"'_ _Well, your_ system _is broken_ _," Bruce snaps.'_

 _`"'_ _Don't you tell me the system's broken, Bruce!" Rachel yells with anger_ _._ _"I'm out here_ every day _trying to fix it while you mope around using your grief as an excuse to do_ nothing _. You care about justice_ _?" she yanks on the wheel, drives down an exit ramp and onto the surface streets, which are dark, crowded, and threatening. "_ _Look beyond your own pain, Bruce_ _," she snaps and gestures to the sight that surrounds them. "_ _This city is_ rotting _. Chill is not the cause, he's the effect. Corruption is_ killing _Gotham and Chill being dead doesn't help that – it makes it_ _worse_ _because Falcone walks. He carries on flooding our city with crime and drugs…creating new Joe Chills…Falcone may not have killed your parents, Bruce, but he's destroying everything they stood for_ _."_

"' _She then pulls up in front of a basement club, where a well-suited bouncer checks IDs and invites. "You want to thank him for that here you go. We all know where to find him_ _…" and she gestures at the club_ _._ _"But as long as he keeps the bad people rich and the good people scared, no one will touch him_ _." Then she gives Bruce a hard look. "_ _Good people like your parents who'll stand against injustice are gone, Bruce_ _. And what chance does Gotham have when the good people do nothing?" and she pokes him in the chest.'_

 _`"'Bruce reacts to the poke and then sighs. "_ _I'm not one of your "good people", Rachel," he states. "Chill took that from me_ _."_

 _`"'Rachel is confuse. "_ _What do you mean_ _?"_

 _`"'Bruce reluctantly takes the gun out of his pocket and shows it to his friend, and she stares at it and then at him in shock. "_ _All these years I wanted to kill him…now I can't_ _. I was going to kill him myself."_

 _`"'Rachel stares at her friend in shock and then anger takes over and she slaps him across the face several times, getting no response. "_ _You're no better than the rest_ _," she snarls. "Not better than Chill._ _Your father would be ashamed of you_ _," she adds._

 _`"'Bruce stares at her, hurt that she would bring up his late father like that; he then opens the door, gets out, and walks away.'"`_

* * *

 _`"'Rachel leaves Bruce behind, and he walks out onto the docks; he stands and stares out at the water, rolls the gun between his hands, and then flashes back to the night that his parents died, the trembling gun inches from his father's chest. His body reacts to the fear and throws the gun into the black water beyond. Never again would he dare use or even_ hold _a gun.'"`_

* * *

 _`"'Bruce walks back toward the basement club and heads straight toward the entrance, and enters the noisy place; he looks around until he spots the figure of Falcone at a table. Eyes narrow, he pushes his way through the crowd until he reaches the table, and Falcone looks up.'_

 _`"'_ _You're taller than you look in the tabloids, Mr_ _. Wayne_ _," he comments as one of his thugs pats the young man down for weapons." No gun? I'm insulted_ _."_

 _`"'Only a coward needs a gun," Bruce states coldly.'_

 _`"'Falcone shrugs and gestures for him to sit. "C_ _houlda just sent me a thank-you note," he adds_ _.'_

 _`"'Bruce sits and scowls. "_ _I didn't come here to thank-you," he snaps. "I came to show you that not everyone in Gotham is afraid of you_ _."_

 _`"'Falcone laughs, like he has just heard a great joke. "_ _Just those that know me, kid," he snickers and gestures around at the crowd in the club_ _. "Look around – you'll see two councilmen, a union official, a couple off-duty cops, a judge…" and in a nearby booth, Judge Faden sits and eyes the young man nervously; the older man then takes out a gun from under the table and aims it at Bruce's forehead. "I don't have a second hesitation blowing your head off in front of them…that's power you can't buy," he adds. "The power of fear."_

 _`"'Bruce smiles. "_ _I'm not afraid of you_ _."_

 _`"'_ _Falcone snorts_ _._ _"Because you think you have nothing to lose," he guesses_ _. "But you haven't thought it through – you haven't thought about your lady friend from the DA's…or that old butler of yours…" he pulls the trigger and Bruce tries and fails to not flinch at the clicking sound, and the older man lowers the gun. "People from your world_ always _have so much to lose. That's why they keep me in business – I stop the desperate heading uptown the way Joe Chill did. You think because your mommy and daddy got shot you know the ugly side of life, but you don't. You've_ never _tasted desperation – you're Bruce Wayne, Prince of Gotham – you'd have to go a thousand miles to meets someone who didn't know your name. So, don't come down here with all your anger…trying to prove something to yourself – this is a world you'll_ never _understand. And you'll always fear what you don't understand."_

 _`"'He then nods and two thugs haul the young man up, punches him in the stomach, and when Bruce turns to fight, they pin his arms behind his back. "You got spirit, kid, I'll give you that," Falcone adds. "More than your old man." And Bruce looks at him with a cut lip. "In the joint Chill told me about the night he killed your parents…said your dad begged for mercy._ Begged _. Like a dog." And laughs as the young man is dragged away.'"`_

* * *

 _`"'Bruce grunts as the thugs toss him out of the club and into the street; he sits up and glares back at the club.'_

 _`"'_ _Shoulda tipped better_ _," says a voice and Bruce turns to see a homeless man warming his hands over a fire built inside an oil drum, and there are other homeless people scatter around the docks.'_

 _`"'Bruce stands and walks over to the homeless man while he wipes the blood off his face with his scarf before he tosses it into the barrel, he pulls out his wallet, and takes out every bit of money from within it; he then hands it over to the homeless man, surprising him_ _.'_

 _`"'For what?" he asks warily.'_

 _`"'Your jacket," Bruce answers.'_

 _`"'Okay," said the homeless man, he accepts the money and takes his jacket off while Bruce drops his wallet into the fire, along with his tie, and then takes off his overcoat, which is about to toss in next. "Lemme have it, that's a good coat_ _."_

 _`"'Bruce looks at him, thinks and then hands it over, and accepts the jacket, which he pulls on. "_ _Be careful who sees you with that," he advises. "They're gonna come looking for me_ _."_

 _`"'Who?" the homeless man asks and puts the coat on.'_

 _`"'Everyone," Bruce answers and walks away; he wanders through the stacks of containers and hears a horn in the distance, where a cargo ship is ready to leave, and he runs towards it through the shadows.'"`_

* * *

As the year went by, Henri watched Bruce, who was facing off against a shaven-headed warrior, and they were sparring; when a shout from across the monastery distracted the young man, he was taken down, and the older man shook his head. "Childish, Wayne."

Instead of protesting, Bruce was watching as two warriors dragged a screaming man toward a cage. "Who is he?" he asked.

"He was a farmer," Henri answered, also watching. "Then he tried to take his neighbor's land and became a murderer," he added as the man was locked inside the cage. "Now he's a prisoner." And they watched as the cage was winched ten feet off the ground while the man inside whimpered fearfully.

"What will happen to him?" Bruce asked, pulling on his shirt.

"Justice," Henri responded. "Crime cannot be tolerated – criminals thrive on the indulgence of society's 'understanding'. You know this." And the young man nodded, still staring at the man in the cage with a troubled expression. "Or when you lived among the criminals…did you make the same mistake as your father? Did you start to _pity_ them?"

* * *

 _`"'_ _The first time you're forced to steal not to starve_ _…"_

 _`"'Bruce wanders through the crowded market in a African port town and stops in front of a fruit stand; he examines a mango while he also slips a plum into his pocket.'_

 _`"'He then goes into an alley and squats in a doorway; he hungrily bites into the plum, savoring the taste and juice, and then he notices a small boy in rags, who is sitting in the next doorway, and he is staring at the plum.'_

 _`"'…_ _you lose many assumptions about the simple nature of right and wrong_ _."_

 _`"'Bruce looks at the boy and then at the plum and sighs, he hands the plum to the boy, who eagerly takes it.'"`_

* * *

 _`"'Bruce is now in London, England, filthy and is growing a beard as he moves through the crowd with an elderly man.'_

 _`"'_ _I needed to feel the fear before a crime_ _…"_

 _`"'The elderly man spots a businessman moving in their direction and he steps directly into his path, and this causes a collision that knocks the elderly man to the ground; both the businessman and Bruce crouches down to help the elderly man.'_

 _`"'_ _And the thrill of success_ _…"_

 _`"'Bruce slips the businessman's wallet out of his pocket without the man's knowledge as they help the elderly man up, and the businessman walks away; Bruce shows the wallet to the elderly man, who nods with approval, and then the young man hurries after the businessman.'_

 _`"'…_ _without becoming one of them_ _."_

 _`"'Bruce catches up with the businessman and returns the wallet; the businessman thanks him and hands the young man a banknote in return, Bruce takes it and gives his thanks.'"`_

* * *

 _`"'Somewhere in Eastern Europe, Bruce is in a warehouse and he tries to crack a safe under the supervision of a young tough man, who shakes his head, spins the dial, and whips open the safe and shows Bruce what to do.'_

 _`"'_ _I thought I would find something_ _.'"`_

* * *

 _`"'In Shanghai, Bruce is in a backroom with a Chinese boss and seven criminals drinking, laughing, and they show each other their spoils of watches, wallets, and phones.'_

 _`"'_ _I thought I would learn what I needed to do with my skills and my anger_ _.'"`_

* * *

 _`"'It is daytime now, and a truck races through the door; two criminals yank the doors shut after, and both Bruce and the boss jumps down from the cab.'_

 _`"'_ _But the harder I looked the less I saw. The less I knew_ _."_

 _`"'Bruce turns to the boss with a wary expression. "_ _Where's this friend of yours_ _?"_

 _`"'The boss shrugs. "_ _Not friend. Friend of friend_ _."_

 _`"'Bruce rolls his eyes and looks at the boss with contempt.'_

 _`"'_ _Until I wasn't even sure what I'd been looking for in the first place_ _."_

 _`"'The doors explode open and the cops burst in, shouting in Mandarin.'_

 _`"'Now the back of the truck is open, and the cops are doing an inventory of boxes that they pull out of the back and pile on the floor.'_

 _`"'And I was lost."_

 _`"'Bruce sits in a line of criminals with his hands cuffed behind his back; a cop yanks him to his feet, and hauls him over to the commanding officer. "'_ _He refuses to give his name_ _.'"_

 _`"'The officer smirks at the young man. "'_ _Fool – this is China, you're a criminal, what the hell do I care what your name is_ _?'"_

 _`"'_ _I'm not a criminal_ _,'" Bruce protests.'_

 _`"'The officer scowls and waves him away and looks at the truck. "_ _Tell that to the guys who owned these_ _!" he snaps and kicks a box that has the Wayne Enterprises logo on the front.'_

 _`"'You traveled the world to understand the criminal mind and conquer your fear…'"`_

* * *

After the year was done, Bruce and Henri were in the throne room, dressed in black ninja armor, and the older man was holding the blue poppy that Bruce had carried up the mountain; now it was dried and shriveled, Henri dropped the dried flower into a bowl, picked it up, and used a pestle to grind it into a fine powder.

"But a criminal isn't complicated, and what you really fear is inside yourself. You fear your own power. Your own anger. The drive to do great or terrible things…you must journey inwards," he added, pouring hot water onto the powder, which instantly dissolved into a steam, and he handed the bowl to Bruce. "Drink in your fears," he ordered. "Face them. You are ready."

Bruce accepted the bowl and breathed in the smoke and his head began spinning instantly as images of bats, the opera, him falling, and the night his parents died flashed through his mind; dizzy, he set the bowl down while Henri pulled a mask over his own head, and motioned for him to do the same.

"Why the masks?" Bruce asked as, to him, Henri's eyes started to glow an eerie blue color; instead of answering, dozens ninjas stepped out of the shadows into several long lines, and the older man melted into the lines, prompting him to put his own mask on and pulled out his sword from his back.

' _Great, I have to do this drugged out of my mind,'_ Bruce thought, for to him, the eyes of every ninja were _glowing_ the same eerie blue color, and the room itself was distorted as he moved through the lines of ninjas, searching while the older man's voice seemed to be coming from everywhere, also distorted.

 _`"_ _To conquer fear, you must_ become _fear,"`_ said Henri's voice, _`"you must_ bask _in the fear of other men…and men fear most what they cannot_ see _-"`_

Henri appeared out of the lines and attacked Bruce, who parried and spun, only to have the ninjas move, making the older man disappear once again, one ninja among many, and he began speaking again as Bruce searched.

 _`"_ _It is not enough to be a man…you have to become an idea…a terrible thought...a_ wraith _-"`_

Henri attacked from behind and the young man barely avoided it as the ninjas moved once again, hiding his target among their ranks. God this was getting annoying! He resumed searching and spun when the ninjas shifted again, revealing a wooden box, and Henri spoke.

 _`"Embrace your worst fear."`_

Bruce cautiously approached the box and slowly lifted the lid to peer inside-

Bats exploded from the box, startling him so bad that he dove to the ground as they flew around him, clawing at his armor; after a few seconds they were gone and Bruce, breathing hard, got to his feet, returning to the lines of ninjas – only to have Henri attack from behind, this time slashing his arm before disappearing again.

Bruce suppressed a curse, realizing that this would make it easier for the older man to find him, and then he got an idea; staying low, he sliced the arms of two different ninjas, and neither of them winced. _'This better work or else all this training will have been for nothing.'_

* * *

Henri moved through the lines, stalking the young man as he resumed speaking, mildly disappointed that the bats hadn't worked. _`"_ _Become one with the darkness_ _…"`_ he whispered and fought back a sigh when he saw a ninja with a familiar injury; he shoved the man to his knees, pressed his sword against his neck, and removed his own mask.

"You cannot leave any sign," Henri scolded, disappointed.

" _I haven't,"`_ said a voice from behind and Henri stiffened when he felt a cold steel blade against his neck, and holding the sword was Bruce, who removed his own mask.

Henri glanced around at the ninjas nearest to them and saw that they all had slashed sleeves, prompting him to smile with approval at the trick, and then the remaining ninjas sat on the floor, revealing Ra's al Ghul, who was seated in his throne and was clapping.

"Impressive," said the old Asian man in perfect English, clearly approving of Bruce's idea and success.

Putting away their blades, Henri led him over to the throne and they stood before him; Ra's stood, moved to a nearby brazier that had a branding iron sticking out of it, and two ninjas brought the murderer into the throne room and Ra's began speaking.

"'We have purged your fear'," Henri translated with pride. "'You are ready to lead these men. You are ready to become a member of the League of Shadows'." And then Ra's al Ghul gestured to the bound man. "'First you must demonstrate your commitment to justice'."

Bruce frowned when Henri handed his sword. "No. I'm no executioner."

"Your compassion is a weakness your enemies won't share," Henri warned him.

"That's why it's so important," Bruce countered, refusing to take the sword. "It separates me from them."

Henri frowned. "You want to fight criminals," he reminded the younger man. "This man is a murderer."

Bruce shook his head. "This man should be tried."

"By whom?" Henri snorted. "Corrupt bureaucrats? Criminals mock society's law. You know this better than most."

Just then, Ra's al Ghul spoke up in accented English. "You cannot lead these men unless you are prepared to do what is necessary to defeat evil."

"Where will I be _leading_ these men?" Bruce asked, surprised.

"Gotham," Ra's responded. "As Gotham's favored son you will be ideally placed to strike at the heart of criminality."

"How?" Bruce asked uneasily, not sure if he wanted to know.

"Gotham's time has come," Ra's al Ghul answered. "Like Constantinople or Rome before it…the city has become a breeding ground for suffering and injustice…it is beyond saving and must be allowed to die. This is the most important function of the League of Shadows. It is one we have performed for centuries. Gotham _must_ be destroyed."

"What?!" Bruce yelped, alarmed. They _seriously_ wanted him to destroy his own home?!

"When Gotham falls, the other cities will follow in short order," Ra's explained, no longer needing Henri to translate. "Nature's balance will be restored and Man will finally return to solitude."

Bruce couldn't believe what he was hearing and turned to Henri. "You _can't_ believe in this," he hissed.

Henri shot him a warning look. "Ra's Al Ghul has rescued us from the darkest corners of our own hearts," he whispered quickly, "what he asks in return is obedience. And the courage to do what is necessary."

Bruce was stunned. "I'll go back to Gotham," he vowed, gathering together his thoughts. "And I'll fight men like this" he nodded at the bound man "but I won't be an executioner."

"Wayne, please, for your own sake," Henri whispered emphatically, "there is no turning back…"

Bruce looked at his mentor for a moment, came to a decision, and took the sword; he then raised the blade in preparation to strike while the murderer's head was bowed and trembling. He then swung down, missing the murderer's neck by inches, striking the white-hot branding iron, and it was sent flipping through the air and into the mezzanine where the explosives were stored

"What are you doing?" Henri asked, startled.

"What's necessary, my friend," Bruce answered and then hit the older man in the head.

With a howl of rage, Ra's leap forward and slashed at Bruce with his sword, and he blocked the attack; as they fought, the league scattered, fleeing for their lives as the storage area exploded, destroying the building.

Hearing a cracking noise from above, Bruce dove out of the way by rolling, while the burning ceiling collapsed on top of Ra's, killing him instantly; getting up, he spotted Henri's unconscious form, made his way over and swung the older man over his shoulders as explosions continued ripping the place apart.

Grunting because of the strain, Bruce staggered toward the front of the building as it continued collapsing, and then an explosion knocked them both through an ornate screen.

* * *

The two men tumbled through the air and onto the snowy slopes of the mountain; Bruce grunted when he landed, spotting Henri, who was still unconscious and was sliding down the slope, and was heading toward the edge of a cliff. Bruce launched himself down the icy slope headfirst.

When they were mere feet from the cliff edge, Bruce grabbed the older man's arm and used his other gauntlet to smash into the ground, the blades digging into the ground, and they stopped near the ledge, where Henri was now dangling over, and Bruce was struggling to lift him back up.

* * *

After a few seconds and nearly dislocating his shoulder, Bruce managed to pull Henri back onto the slope, breathing hard; carrying the older man over his shoulders fire-man styled, Bruce made his way back down the mountains to the tiny hamlet, where the people actually watched as he headed to a certain hut, and kicked the door open, surprising the old man.

The old man stared at Bruce and his burden for a moment before motioning to some mats; understanding, the young man gently laid Henri onto the mats, and the old man used a wet cloth to carefully wipe away the blood from his temple before glancing at Bruce, who was heading for the door.

"I will tell him you saved his life," he promised.

Bruce paused and turned back, looking at Henri's unconscious form. "Tell him…I have an ailing ancestor who needs me," he requested, put his hands together and did a formal bow before leaving the hut. He had a job to do, and he needed to get home first.

* * *

A/N: And that's a wrap! R&R everyone!


	5. Chapter 4: A SYMBOL

Batman Begins: The First Mission

A/N: I'm back and I'm still having squeals over last night's _Supernatural_! OMG!

Read, review, and enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from _Batman_ or from _Batman Begins;_ I only own the characters that I created.

* * *

 **CHAPTER FOUR: A SYMBOL**

Later that same day and wearing clothes provided by the people of the hamlet, they even bandaged the cut on his arm, Bruce arrived at a smoky inn, which was filled with locals and climbers, and when he entered, the crowd stopped and stared at him for a moment before returning to what they had been doing.

Ignoring the strange looks, Bruce walked over to the bar and used the phone to dial a number; he waited as the phone rang several times until a familiar voice answered it.

 _`"_ _Wayne residence_ _,"`_ said Alfred Pennyworth.

Bruce smiled sadly upon hearing the older man's voice after seven years. "Alfred."

 _`"_ _Master Wayne,"`_ said Alfred, hiding his surprise, relief, and mild disappointment. _`"It's been some time_ _."`_

Bruce chuckled. "Yes. Yes it has," he agreed. "I need a ride."

 _`"_ _And where are we, sir_ _?"`_ Alfred asked, all business now.

Bruce looked around, hoping for a clue to his current location. "Bhutan, I think," he guessed, and a man seated nearby nodded. "Yes, I'm in Bhutan."

Alfred took this all into his memory. _`"_ _Am I to assume that you're without money and passport_ _?"`_ he inquired.

"I'm traveling a bit light, yes," Bruce admitted, thinking of what he was currently wearing.

 _`"_ _I believe there's an airstrip at Khatmandu long enough for a G5,"`_ Alfred informed him. _`"Make your way there, I'll have the jet down in fifteen hours_ _."`_

"Very good," said Bruce, relieved. "Oh, and Alfred?"

 _`"Yes, sir?"`_

"Bring some painkillers," Bruce requested, his shoulder was still sore from rescuing Henri from the grips of the League of Shadows. _'Ow.'_

* * *

A few hours later, Bruce arrived in Katandu and approached the waiting G5 plane, and Alfred, who was waiting in the doorway at the top of the steps.

"You look rather fashionable," he commented. "Apart from the dried blood." And the young man just shrugged and smiled before going up the stairs to enter the plane.

* * *

Fifteen hours later, Bruce emerged from the washroom of the jet all cleaned up and dressed in clean tailored clothes, just as the jet broke through the cloud cover, revealing a beautiful sunrise and Gotham far below; taking a brief look at the view, Bruce sat down across from Alfred, who had been sleeping and opened his eyes.

"Have you told anyone I'm coming home?" Bruce asked, already imagining how the tabloids would explode with stories of what he must've been doing for the past seven years. _'They're gonna have a field day.'_

Alfred shook his head. "I thought you might like to surprise a few people," he offered. "Are you coming back to Gotham for long, sir?"

Bruce was relieved by his friend's smart thinking and began planning aloud. "As long as it takes," he insisted. "I'm going to show the people of Gotham that the city doesn't belong to the criminals and the corrupt. I'll need everything on the company- shareholders' reports, holdings. _Everything_. Plus anything you can obtain about Rachel, the police force, news reports, and even everything on the Pearson's and their company."

Alfred nodded, smiled, and closed his eyes again. "You sound like a man with purpose," he commented. "You know, during the depression your father nearly bankrupted Wayne Enterprises combating poverty…he believed that his example would inspire the wealthy of Gotham to save their city," he added.

"Did it?" Bruce asked.

Alfred opened his eyes and nodded sadly. "In a way…their murder shocked the wealthy and powerful into action."

Bruce nodded, thinking. "People need dramatic examples to shake them out of apathy," he agreed. "I can't do this as Bruce Wayne. A man is just flesh and blood, and can be ignored or destroyed. But a _symbol_ …as a symbol I can be incorruptible, everlasting."

"What symbol, sir?" Alfred asked, opening his eyes again, curious.

Bruce shrugged, staring out the window again. "I'm not sure, yet," he admitted, thinking. "Something elemental. Something terrifying." _'But what_ kind _? What symbol will scare the corrupt?'_

"I assume, sir, that since you're taking on the underworld, this 'symbol' is a persona to protect those you care about from reprisals?" Alfred guessed.

Bruce nodded. "You're thinking about Rachel?"

"Actually, sir, I was thinking about myself," Alfred admitted.

Bruce chuckled. "And you're sure that no one knows that I'm coming back?"

Alfred sighed. "I haven't figured out the legal ramifications of raising you from the dead."

"Dead?" Bruce repeated.

The butler shrugged. "It's been seven years."

Bruce was amazed. "You had me declared dead?"

"Actually, it was Mr. Earle," Alfred corrected. "He wanted to liquidate your majority shareholding. He's taking the company public. Your shares brought in an enormous amount of capital."

Bruce rolled his eyes, having forgotten about Earle. "Good thing I left everything to you, then."

"Quite so, sir," Alfred agreed, closing his eyes again. "You're welcome to borrow the rolls, by the way. Just bring it back with a full tank," he added, smirking, and the young man also smirked at the joke.

* * *

Sometime later, Bruce was sitting cross-legged on the floor of the library of Wayne Manor, and was going through reports on the family business, news articles, reports about Philip and Julia Pearson and their company, Pearson Pharmaceuticals, reports about the local police force, photos of Rachel, an older Jim Gordon, the Pearson's, and was making notes in a notebook while circling important parts on each report or news item.

* * *

In the kitchen, Alfred was preparing some tea and was listening to the local news on the TV.

 _`"_ _Lot of interest in new directions Wayne Industries has been taking_ _…"`_

Alfred look up at this and saw that William Earle was being interviewed…again. _'What has that bloody idiot done this time?'_

 _`"…_ _couple big defense contracts in the bag…as well as rumors that the board is petitioning to have Bruce Wayne, missing for seven years now, declared officially dead_ _."`_

Earle smiled thinly at the reporter. _`"_ _Our operating assumption is always the hopeful one that Bruce'll resurface sometime soon_ _."`_

' _Liar,'_ Alfred thought sourly and went back to preparing the tea. _'You rather have Master Bruce remain missing forever.'_

* * *

Bruce was still in the library, working when a squeaking sound reached his ears and he looked up; not seeing anything, he resumed working when the same noise reached his ears a second time, and he got up to investigate. Stepping out into the main hall, he looked around and then up toward the vaulted ceiling, where he saw a bat flapping against it, and he stared up at it, an familiar fear stirring a little.

"A blessed bat again, sir," said Alfred, walking toward him with a tray filled with tea items. "They nest somewhere on the grounds," he added and glanced up at the bat while making a mental note to get it out of there before it hurt itself or one of them.

Bruce watched the bat as it continued to search for a way out, impressed of how its' shadow flickered across the ceiling and wall. _'Bats…I wonder…'_

* * *

Pulling on a long black coat and having dug out his father's old climbing gear, Bruce headed out into the backyard, past the disused green house, and over to the abandoned well, which was now grown over with plant-life; pulling the overgrowth away, Bruce lowered himself into the darkness below.

* * *

Reaching the bottom, Bruce knelt and looked around, recalling his one time down there, and then he saw the dark crevice that the bats had came out of on that day; grabbing the coil of rope, he pulled himself into the crevice, following the sounds of dripping water while a cold breeze hit him in the face.

* * *

Using the rope, Bruce carefully climbed down the jagged rock crevice and into a large cavern, where he could hear the rush of water in the distance as he landed on the damp ground; straightening up, he looked around his breath misting in the cold air, noting an waterfall off to his right, and he walked forward until he reached the edge of a river.

Bruce could hear the quiet screeching of bats, but he couldn't see any in the darkness; he pulled a white neon light out of his coat, turned it on, and held it above his head – moments later, thousands upon _thousands_ of bats exploded from everywhere in the cave and flew straight at the young man, attracted by the light, and they were screeching loudly; Bruce instinctively duck down at first, but after a few seconds, he slowly stood up and, with his eyes shut, held out his arms, letting the bats engulf him completely.

He knew the symbol he was going to use.

* * *

The next morning, Alfred was driving Bruce through the streets of Gotham City, and the young man was shocked and dismayed by the state of the city, including the state of Wayne plaza and the station, which was deserted and was in such a state of disrepair that he was worried that it was going to collapse any second.

He got out of the Rolls and stared, stunned. "Is it closed?"

Alfred nodded sadly. "They still run a token service out of respect for your father," he answered once Bruce was back in the car and he resumed driving.

"Respect?" Bruce repeated with an air of disbelief. _'God,_ why _is Earle doing all of this to my family's legacy?'_

* * *

In the outer office of Wayne Tower, a young beautiful assistant was at her desk, taking calls when Bruce entered.

"Good morning," said he pleasantly. "I'm here to see Mr. Earle."

"Name?" she asked, not looking up.

"Bruce Wayne," Bruce responded and grinned when she looked up at the name with a shocked expression on her face.

* * *

In the boardroom, Earle was presiding over a meeting and was arguing with a board member, Fredericks, who had been a long-time friend of the Wayne family.

"…but we're showing _very_ healthy growth in these sectors-" Earle began.

"I don't think that Thomas Wayne would have viewed heavy arms manufacture as a suitable cornerstone of our business-" Fredericks cut in.

"I think, Fredericks, that after twenty years, we ought to be at a point where we stop asking ourselves what Thomas Wayne would have done," Earle agreed. "True, Thomas Wayne wouldn't have wanted to take the company public, either, but that's what, as responsible managers, we're going to do." He then hit the intercom. "Jessica, get me that prospectus," he requested, but didn't get an answer. "Jessica?"

Frowning, Earle opened the doors and found himself facing the back of a young man, who had his arms wrapped around the woman's hips while showing her how to golf. "Jessica, who's answering the phones!?" he demanded.

"It's Wayne Enterprises, Mr. Earle," said Bruce, looking at him with a smirk "I'm sure they'll call back." _'Good, Philip Pearson is still on the board,"_ he thought, relieved to see the silver-haired man seated at the long table, who was looking both stunned and relieved to see him.

A stunned silence fell over the room and Earle approached the young man, and shook his hand while clapping his other hand on Bruce's shoulder. "Bruce?" he said, masking his disappointment. "We thought…you were dead."

Bruce shrugged. "Sorry to disappoint."

* * *

A short while later, Bruce was seated in Earle's office, accepting a cup of coffee from the older man.

"You realize, Bruce, that it's too late to stop the public offering," Earle informed him, sipping from his own cup.

"I understand," Bruce told him with a smile. "I'll be handsomely rewarded for my shares. I'm not here to interfere – I'm looking for a job." And took a moment to enjoy Earle's surprised look, the second one in the same day. "I just want to get to know the company that my family built."

Earle nodded. "Any idea where you'd start?"

"Applied sciences caught my eye," Bruce answered.

Earle raised his eyebrows at this. "Mr. Fox's department?" he then shrugged. "I'll make a call." And reached for his phone as the young man stood up. "Oh, and Bruce?" he added. "Some of the secretaries and so on…because of your name they may assume…"

"I'll be absolutely clear with everyone that I'm just another humble employee," Bruce promised.

* * *

Bruce left the office and was on his way to the elevators when someone called out his name.

"Bruce, wait up!"

The young man turned to face Philip, who was striding toward him. "Mr. Pearson."

"Philip, please," said Philip, grasping Bruce's hand in his own. "Contrary to whatever you may have been told by Earle, I was against declaring you dead without any physical proof, and I'm glad that you're still alive, son."

Bruce smiled. "Thank you for having faith in me, Philip. How's your family?"

Philip shrugged. "Well, Julia is finding new ways to drive me over the edge with her controlling manners," he admitted, "and failing since I haven't gone mental… _yet_. My daughter Katherine, she actually took a leaf out of your book, and ran away twenty years ago, joining the circus, is married, and has two grand kids that I _literally_ have to sneak out of the city to see without my wife's knowledge."

Bruce nodded, understanding the older man's frustration since he had a few memories of how strict Julia Pearson could be, and the scandal it caused when their only child ran away shortly after graduating high school when she was eighteen. "I understand, Philip, your wife is a force to be reckon with."

"That's one way of putting it," Philip agreed. "Anyway, if you and Alfred need anything-"

"I'll let you know," Bruce promised and left while Philip just smiled and headed back to the boardroom, where he was probably going to get an earful from Earle for rushing off.

But he didn't care, the heir to Wayne Enterprises was back, and that was all that mattered, plus the only thing that Earle could do to him was kick him off the board, and that hardly mattered since he had his own company to run.

* * *

Meanwhile at the DA's office, Rachel Dawes entered the office of her boss, Finch, and handed him some paperwork on one of the many cases they were working on.

"Have you seen him yet?" Finch asked, studying her.

"Who?" Rachel asked.

Finch blinked, surprised that she didn't know. "Wayne."

Now Rachel was confused. "Bruce?" she repeated. "What do you mean?"

"You haven't heard?" Finch asked. "It's been all over the news today. He's back." And it was clear that this was news to Rachel, who hurried away to find a TV to check the news.

* * *

A/N: And that's a wrap for this chapter. R&R everyone!


	6. Chapter 5: UNUSUAL REQUESTS

Batman Begins: The First Mission

A/N: I'm back despite having a tough week with back-to-back morning shifts at work, plus training at my other job, which is leaving me exhausted, but I'm here with the next chapter for you all.

Read, review, and enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from _Batman_ or from _Batman Begins;_ I only own the characters that I created.

* * *

 **CHAPTER FIVE: UNUSUAL REQUESTS**

After going to the golf club, confirming he was alive, and a round of golf, Bruce went to Applied Sciences, which was located in a massive warehouse of all places, and this had the young man confused; when he entered, he discovered that it was filled with crates, odd-shaped equipment hidden under dust covers, and lab equipment.

Bruce was soon greeted by an older black man with black hair and black mustache that were turning white, and introduced himself as Lucius Fox before leading him through the stacks to his desk, where he seated himself and pulled up data on his computer.

"Environmental applications, defense projects, consumer products…" he read off with a calm knowledgeable tone, "all prototypes, none in production at any level whatsoever."

"None?" Bruce asked, surprised.

Lucius paused and turned to him, an inquiring gleam in his eye. "What did they tell you this place was?"

"They didn't tell me anything," Bruce admitted.

Lucius sighed, stood and walked over to a stone pillar, and flipped several switches, turning on the extensive lights. "Earle told me _exactly_ what it was when he sent me here…" he explained sourly "…a dead end where I couldn't cause any more trouble for the rest of the board."

"You were on the board?" Bruce inquired, surprised.

Lucius nodded. "Yes, along with Philip Pearson and several others," he confirmed. "Back when your father ran things."

Bruce was impressed. "You knew my father?"

"Sure," Lucius responded, leading the young man through the warehouse. "Helped him build his train," he added. "Beautiful project – routed right into Wayne Tower, along with the water and power utilities. Made Wayne Tower the unofficial heart of Gotham. 'Course, Earle's left it to rot." He stopped next to a black case; he pulled out a box, and opened it, revealing a bronze grappling gun and harness. "Pneumatic. Magnetic grapple. Mono-filament tested to 350 pounds."

Bruce picked up the gun and tested the weight, surprised by how light and strong it was; he picked up the harness that went with it and examined the shoulder straps with a wide, hi-tech belt. Bruce shoved the back end of the gun into the belt buckle and it clucked into place. "Impressive."

Lucius grinned and then led the young man over to a tall crate, checked the paperwork, and then opened it, revealing an armor bodysuit that was covered with a clear silicone. "Here it is: the nomex survival suit for advanced infantry. Kevlar biweave, reinforced joints."

Bruce reached out and felt the fabric, letting it run through his fingers, interested. "Bullet-proof?"

"Anything but a straight shot," Lucius confirmed.

"Tear-resistant?" Bruce asked, already getting ideas of how he could use the armor for his own needs.

Lucius grinned, pulled out a pen and stabbed it at the suit, not even leaving a mark. "This sucker'll stop a _knife_."

' _Perfect.'_ "Why didn't they put it into production?" Bruce asked, surprised that it wasn't being used by their troops.

Lucius shrugged. "The bean counters figured a soldier's life wasn't worth the 300 grand." He then gave the young man an inquiring look as he closed up the crate. "What do you want with it, Mr. Wayne?"

"I want to borrow it," Bruce told him. "For spelunking." And he added on when Lucius gave him a skeptical look. "You know, cave-diving."

"You get a lot of gunfire down in those caves?" Lucius asked, still skeptical.

Bruce sheepishly smiled. "Listen, I'd rather Mr. Earle didn't know about me borrowing-" he began.

"Mr. Wayne, the way I see it," said Lucius, gesturing to the entire warehouse and its' contents. "All this stuff is yours, anyway." And Bruce smiled.

* * *

Getting what he needed from Lucius, Bruce went back into the caves with Alfred, and was now using his father's climbing gear to climb a nearby wall, where he pounded a bracket into the rock, securing a line of industrial lamps.

"Okay!" he called down to the older man. "Give it a try."

Alfred threw a switch on a portable generator, and the lamps flickered on, dimly lighting the length of the wall; he then peered at the damp, dingy surroundings. "Oh, _charming_ ," he said sarcastically, and then he spotted the bats that were covering the entire ceiling. "At least you'll have company," he added.

Bruce rappelled down to the cave floor and glanced up toward the ceiling, where he spotted crumbling brickwork in one corner.

"Must be the lowest foundations of the Southeast wing," Alfred remarked, following his gaze, and they both made their way to where there was an old elevator, connected to a rusty chain that climbed up an old shaft toward into darkness above; Bruce grabbed the chain and shook it, pleased to see that it was still attached. "During the civil war your great-grandfather was involved with the underground railroad," he explained. "Secretly transporting freed slaves to the North. I suspect these caverns came in handy."

Bruce nodded, jumped down and went to put on the armor; he then made his way to the small river and followed it until it disappeared under some rocks, and stepped over it toward the waterfall, while Alfred pulled on a coat to fight against the cold and kept his distance, watching. The young man reached the waterfall and grinned, calling back to the butler. "Alfred, come up here!"

Alfred shook his head, staying where he was. "I can see it very well from here, thank-you, sir."

Grinning, Bruce turned back to the waterfall and reached out, letting the water hit the armor on his arm.

* * *

Later, Bruce fired up a paint sprayer and used it to spray a pair of bronze gauntlets black, and he also sprayed the armor black; once he was done with this, he and Alfred went over some plans for the next part of his outfit, which involved some of Alfred's old contacts from his days as a spy.

"If we order the main part of this" said Alfred, pointing to a part of an diagram " _cowl_ from Singapore-"

"Via a shell corporation," Bruce guessed.

"Indeed," Alfred confirmed. "Then quite separately, place an order through a Chinese manufacturer for _these_ -" and he pointed to a different part of the diagram.

"Put it together ourselves," Bruce concluded.

Alfred nodded. "Precisely," he agreed. "Of course, they'll have to be large orders to avoid suspicion."

"How large?" Bruce asked.

Alfred shrugged. "Say, ten thousand."

Bruce nodded, smiling slightly. "Least we'll have spares," he remarked and Alfred agreed.

* * *

That night, Jim Gordon, who was now in his late forties, wearing glasses, and a sergeant, was seated in an unmarked police sedan that was parked outside a small liquor store, and he watched as his overweight partner, Flass, bullied the owner until he handed over a wad of cash; not for the first time, Gordon wished that he could do something about the corruption that had taken over the police force, but he couldn't…not alone, and not when his wife, Barbara, was pregnant with their second child.

Eating a candy bar, Flass squeezed himself into the driver's seat and offered the cash to the older man. "Don't s'pose you want a taste?" and shrugged at the glare that Gordon gave him. "I keep offering 'cause who knows, maybe one day you'll get wise."

"Nothing wise in what you do, Flass," Gordon grumbled, looking away.

Flass didn't look convinced as he pocketed the money. "Yeah? Well, Jimbo, you don't take your taste – makes us guys nervous you might decide to roll over-"

"I'm no rat, Flass," Gordon snapped, irritated and then sighed, looking out the window again. "In a town this bent, who's there to rat to, anyway?" _'I_ never _should have transferred here.'_

Flass laughed, realizing that Gordon was right, and then hit the gas, zooming them down the street.

* * *

Elsewhere, crouching on a rooftop not far from the police station, Bruce was now wearing the armor, the gauntlets, and the harness; watching the station, he pulled a black fabric mask over his head, and made his way to the station's roof.

* * *

Arriving at the police station, Gordon got out of the car, slammed the door shut, and watched Flass drive away with a weary expression.

* * *

Heading inside, Gordon entered his office, pulled off his coat, sat down behind his desk with his back to the windows, and was reaching for his phone when he noticed an old, worn book that said _"_ _PHYLUM PERACOPDA: THE TWILIGHT WORLD OF BATS_ _"_.

' _Where did_ this _come from?'_ he wondered, staring at the book, confused; just then the lights went out, and he froze when something was pressed into his back, between the shoulder blades. _'Oh God, I'm being held up in my own office!'_

"Don't turn around," a raspy voice growled from behind him; Bruce was crouched behind the older man's chair and was pressing a stapler, which he'd swiped from the desk earlier, into his back instead of a gun.

"What do you want?" Gordon asked warily, wondering what was going to happen to him.

"I've been watching," Bruce told him, still using the raspy growl to disguise his voice. "You're a good cop. One of the few. What would it take to get Falcone?"

Gordon frowned, his eyes narrowed. "Carmine Falcone?"

"He brings in shipments of drugs every week, nobody takes him down," Bruce pointed out. "Why?"

Gordon sighed. "He's paid up with the right people."

"What would it take to bring him down?" Bruce inquired.

"Leverage on Judge Faden," Gordon answered. "And a D.A. brave enough to prosecute."

Bruce knew whom they could trust in the DA's office. "Rachel Dawes," he growled.

"Who are you?" Gordon asked, his neck getting sore from not being able to move it.

"Watch for a sign," said Bruce, ignoring the question and lowered the stapler, silently moving back toward the windows.

' _Sign?'_ "You're just one man," Gordon pointed out, unaware that he could move again.

Bruce smirked. "Now we are two."

"We?" Gordon repeated and finally turned around to see that he was completely alone; he jumped out of his chair, ran to the window, and looked out, spotting a shadowy figure climbing the fire escape toward the roof. He ran through the bullpen, pulling out his gun, and headed for the stairwell, prompting two cops to follow him.

* * *

Bruce reached the roof, ran across it to the other side and paused at the edge, realizing that the gap was too big for him to jump; he moved away, looking for another way down, when the door burst open, and Gordon ran out, his gun raised.

" _Freeze!_ "

Having no choice, and not wanting to be arrested, Bruce ran back, jumped the gap, fell through the air and missed the top story of the nearby building by a good inch; grunting, he collided and grabbed the balcony below, only to have it swing loose, causing him to hit two more balconies that broke loose until he hit one that remained in place.

Winded, he grunted and pulled himself over the railing, already imagining the bruises that he would have in the morning, and headed off.

* * *

Gordon reached the edge of the roof and peered down, just in time to see the figure melt into the shadows, and was joined by the two cops.

"What the _hell_ was that?" one of them asked.

"Some nut," said Gordon, pulling away his gun, but he wasn't so sure. _'He had the drop on me, but he didn't do anything except talk. Strange.'_

* * *

Later that same night, Philip was working late in his office, partly because he had to approval several new patents from R&D, and partly to avoid his wife, Julia, who was on one of her anger sprees concerning their daughter and her choice of a husband.

' _You pushed Katherine away, sweetie,'_ he thought, reaching the final page of a report, _'and you're gonna have to mend that fence yourself someday.'_ Approving of what was in the report, he reached for his pen when the lights went out, plunging his office into darkness. "What the-?"

Philip froze when he felt something press into his back, right between the shoulder blades, and he realized that he wasn't alone anymore. "Whose there?" he asked, wondering whether he was going to be robbed, kidnapped, or killed in his own office.

"A friend," a raspy voice growled from behind his chair. "What do you know about the drugs that Falcone brings in each week?"

Philip frowned and then realized what the stranger meant. "They're mostly cocaine and a few of the other typical types that are sold on the streets," he answered. "Why?"

"Your business runs a program to help teens and adults with the detoxing process," the voice pointed out, "and you've been fighting for years to have the police crack down on the drug trade."

Philip nodded. "Yes, I have been," he confirmed, "but it's a losing battle, and not even the DA can help stop the spreading of the poison out there."

"Sgt. James Gordon and Rachel Dawes," whispered the voice, "they can help."

"How?" Philip asked. "Falcone takes out _anyone_ who tries to stop him, and three people can't take him on."

"Now, we are four," said the voice and the pressure disappeared.

"We?" Philip turned his seat around and saw that whoever had gotten the drop on him, which wasn't easy since he was a former marine and had served as a sniper in Vietnam, had already vanished without setting off any alarms, and rolled his eyes when he saw his stapler on the floor. "Okay, maybe I should start drinking decaf for now on." _'But what he said…'_

* * *

The next day, Earle was in his office and was conversing with two members of the board about the return of Bruce Wayne, and how it would affect their plans for the company.

"Is he taking over?" one of them asked.

Earle shook his head. "Not yet," he countered. "I checked the trust, and Bruce can't assume control until his thirtieth birthday." He then pressed the intercom button. "Jessica, where's that coffee?" he asked, having made the request a few minutes ago.

"But that's in three months," the other board member pointed out.

Earle shrugged and checked his watch. "We'll have to move fast."

"To do what?" the first board member asked.

"An IPO," Earle explained. "There's nothing in Bruce's trust to stop us taking the company public…we'll have an offering…"

"And Bruce will become just another board member," the second board member concluded.

"Precisely," Earle agreed. "We can't have some clown prince running things." Wondering where his assistant was with the coffee, he pressed the intercom button again. "Jessica?" still not getting an answer, he stood, went to the door, and opened it; to his shock, both his assistant _and_ the receptionist were gone. _'What the_ hell _?'_

* * *

Determined to find his missing employees, Earle eventually reached the roof, where he found the two ladies with Bruce, who was working with Jessica on a gold golf club, and his receptionist was standing nearby with a driver and was watching the lesson.

"Keep your elbows in," Bruce advised as Jessica swung and hit the ball, sending it flying toward Gotham River. "Not bad, not bad at all. Okay, this time-"

"Ladies," said Earle, mildly annoyed at having his staff high jacked behind his back.

"Sorry, Mr. Earle," Jessica apologized, flushing, "Mr. Wayne insisted that all junior executives need to know how to play golf."

"Junior Executive?" Earle repeated, frowning. "Who's answering the phones?"

Bruce smiled at the older man. "This is Wayne Industries, Mr. Earle," he said confidentially, "I'm sure they'll call back." He then unwrapped himself from the woman and approached Earle. "I thought a few promotions might be good karma forgetting my new job," he added in a conspiratorial tone.

Earle gave the younger man a patient smile. "Of course, you're not actually starting just yet, Bruce," he pointed out. "Not until your birthday."

Bruce grinned, fully aware of this fact thanks to his own research. "Three month's time – I'm having a huge blowout and I expect everyone to be there."

"With bells on," Earle promised. "How are things down at Applied Sciences?"

"Great – there's some cool stuff down there," Bruce said cheerfully, already planning on heading back there after his nighttime adventure, and hoped to cut down on the amounting of bruising by finding something. "Although that Mr. Fox goes on a bit once you get him talking," he added.

Earle nodded, recalling the large number of arguments he'd had with the black man until getting rid of him. "Since you're here, there is a business matter that I wanted to make you aware of."

"Business, sure," Bruce agreed.

"We've been thinking for some time about offering shares," Earle explained, "I think the time is right."

Bruce frowned, not sure if he was hearing this right. "Offering shares?"

Earle nodded. "It's just a way of raising capital for growth…it's important to me that the company be in great shape when you take over," he added. "Consider it my legacy." And the young man nodded. "Well, I guess I'd better go hire a new secretary and receptionist…" and he left through the door.

' _Oh, I understand all right,'_ Bruce thought, watching him go. _'And I already have a plan in motion that will surprise you.'_ He then turned back to the two ladies. "Right, whose turn is it?"

* * *

That night at the club owned by Falcone, Judge Faden left with a pretty girl on his arm.

"Night, Judge Faden," said the bouncer.

Faden turned, giddy with drink, and put a finger to his lips. "Shhhh." The girl giggled, and he guided her into a waiting limo; a street person came over to the rear windows of the car and knocked.

Scowling, the driver got out. "Get lost!" and kicked the person away form the limo; a homeless man was warming his hands by a fire and started shouting at the driver. "Leave him alone!" he shouted, wearing a familiar coat that'd been given to him years before. "Let him be!"

The driver ignored him, kicked the person away from the limo, got back in, and drove off; the street person watched it leave and turned away with a smile. _'I got what I need,'_ Bruce thought, glancing down at a tiny camera he was holding, and on the screen were Faden and the girl. _'I_ so _don't want to be Faden if his wife ever sees these.'_

* * *

The next day, Lucius was at his desk working when Bruce walked up. "What's it today?" he asked the younger man, removing his glasses. "More "spelunking"?"

" _Sper_ -lunking," Bruce corrected. "And no, today it's base-jumping."

"Base-jumping?" Lucius repeated, eyebrows raised. "What…like parachuting?"

"Kind of," said Bruce. "You have any kind of lightweight fabrics…?"

Lucius thought for a moment and then smiled. "Oh, yeah."

* * *

In a different part of the department, Lucius opened a box, pulled out a sheet of black fabric, and lay it on a table. "Notice anything?" he asked and Bruce examined it, shrugging, and he put a glove on. "Memory fabric," he explained, "dual layer polymers with variable alignment molecules. Flexible ordinarily, but put a current through it…" he triggered some mini-generators within the glove and placed it on top of the fabric, which instantly popped into the rigid shape of a small one-man tent "the molecules align and become rigid."

Bruce pushed on the tent, feeling its strength, fascinated. _'This could come in handy.'_ "What kind of shapes can you make?" he asked.

Lucius shrugged, releasing the tent, which instantly collapsed. "It could be tailored to any structure based on a rigid skeleton."

"Too expensive for the army?" Bruce asked, fingering the fabric.

"Guess they never thought about marketing to the billionaire base-jumping, spelunking market," said Lucius, putting the fabric back into the box.

Bruce sighed, not liking keeping secrets from the older man, especially a good friend of his late father. "Look, Mr. Fox, if you're uncomfortable-" he began.

"Mr. Wayne, if you don't tell me what you're really doing," Lucius said seriously, "then when I get asked…I don't have to lie. But don't treat me like an idiot."

Bruce nodded. "Fair enough." He then noticed some kind of vehicle with large tires and was covered by a trap. "What's _that_?"

"The Tumbler?" Lucius said, his eyes twinkling. "Oh, you wouldn't be interested in _that_." And the younger man gave him an amused look.

Oh _wouldn't_ he?

* * *

Barely an hour later, the two men were seated inside the Tumbler, which was covered with sandy camouflage paint, stealth-angled paneling, and variable-angle flaps, which Bruce was driving on a test track; he was piloting it by using aircraft-like control sticks, and Lucius was in the passenger seat, hanging on as the young man applied more speed to the vehicle, which was like a cross between an Lamborghini Countach and a Humvee.

"She was built as a bridging vehicle!" Lucius shouted over the noise of the engine and pointed to a red button on the control unit. "You hit that button-" and yelped when Bruce reached for it. "No, not _now!_ " and the young man stopped. "It boosts her into a rampless jump! In combat, two of them jump a river towing cables, and then you run a bailey bridge across! Damn bridge never worked – but this baby works _fine_!"

Bruce inspected the cockpit: a forward-slung "gunner's" driving position between their legs, video screens, electronic controls, windows with heads-up display, and accelerated the Tumbler, so that it was tearing down the straightaway, and then skidded to a halt; Lucius jolted with the stop, and turned to the young man, looking a little green. "What do you think?"

Bruce turned to him with a slight smile. "Does it come in black?"

* * *

Later in the bat cave, Bruce took a pair of cutters to the hi-tech harness and cut off the shoulder straps, leaving behind the belt with sliding attachments; Bruce lifted a gloved hand that had metal contacts on the fingertips and with his other hand, he picked up a fabric glove that had ribbons dangling from each finger. He thrust the gloved hand into the fabric glove and the ribbons shot out into rigid finger extensions like the skeleton of a bat's wing, and he fanned the projections, testing it.

* * *

Two days later, their first shipment of black graphite cowls arrived, and when Alfred tested one by hitting it with a baseball bat, it cracked in two; he picked the pieces off the table, frowning, and glanced at Bruce, who was watching.

"Problems with the graphite mixture, apparently," he guessed. "The next ten thousands will be up to specifications."

"At least they gave us a discount," Bruce said thoughtfully.

"Quite," Alfred agreed. "In the meantime, might I suggest, sir, that you try to avoid landing on your head?"

Bruce nodded, chuckled, and worked on fitting a microphone into the horn-shaped "ear" for the cowl.

* * *

Later, Bruce was grinding metal at a lathe when Alfred approached with a thermos full of soup, and he finished the grinding, blowing on his handiwork.

"Why the _design_ , Master Wayne?" Alfred asked.

"A man, however strong, however skilled, is just flesh and blood," Bruce explained, polishing the metal. "I need to be _more_ than a man. I need to be a _symbol_."

"And why the bat, Master Wayne?" Alfred inquired.

Bruce shrugged. "Bats frightened me," he reminded the older man with a slight smile. "And it's time my enemies shared my dread." He then titled the crude batarang, which the light dance across the brushed steel, and he threw it whistling into the nearby brick, where it stuck.

* * *

A/N: And so ends the chapter until next time. R&R everyone!


	7. Chapter 6: THE FIRST SIGHTING

Batman Begins: The First Mission

A/N: I'm back! So, I don't mind being given suggestions, but I don't like it when I get criticized for being as faithful as possible to the movie or TV show that I write these stories on; I do have a plan for my Dark Knight Arch, and more of it will be reveal in time.

Read, review, and enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from _Batman_ or from _Batman Begins;_ I only own the characters that I created.

* * *

 **CHAPTER SIX: THE FIRST SIGHTING**

A few nights later, Judge Faden was at Falcone's club once again, especially since his wife was out of town visiting family, and he was currently sandwiched between two girls, a drink and a cigar in his hands, and he looked up when Falcone walked by. "Carmine!" he called after him. "Where are you going?"

"Duty calls," Falcone responded, pulling on his coat. "You have yourself a good time, Judge." He then turned to the club manager and spoke quietly with a scowl. "If he's too cheap to get a hotel, _at least_ make him take his car around to the alley." He shook his head. "No class."

* * *

The next morning at the courthouse, Rachel was seated at the lawyer's table, silently fuming as a thin, bespectacled man testified from the witness stand in his black suit, dark-framed glasses, and had an id badge that identified him as Dr. Jonathan Crane, who was in charge of Arkham Asylum while Dr. Jeremiah Arkham was out of town for the next few months.

"In my opinion, Mr. Zsaz is as much as a danger to himself as to others," Crane stated, referring to a shaven-headed man covered with tats, for it was rumored that Victor Zsaz marked himself each time he successfully killed someone, seated at the other table "…and prison is probably not the best environment for his rehabilitation."

* * *

An hour later, Rachel stormed out of the courtroom, where the judge had agreed to send Victor to Arkham Asylum, and hurried down the marble stairs after Crane.

"Dr. Crane!"

Crane stopped at the base of the stairs and turned to face her, having had this argument before. "Yes, Miss Dawes?"

"You _seriously_ think that Victor Zsaz shouldn't be in jail?" Rachel demanded angrily.

"I would hardly have testified to that otherwise, would I, Miss Dawes?" Crane countered with his own question as they resumed walking onto the portico.

Rachel scowled. "This is the third of Carmine Falcone's thugs that you've seen fit to have declared insane and moved into your asylum-"

"Well, the work offered by organized crime has an attraction to the insane," Crane interrupted.

"Or the corrupt," Rachel added, eyes flashing.

Crane sighed and spoke to someone over her shoulder that was approaching. "Mr. Finch, I think you should check with Miss Dawes here just what implications your office has authorized her to make," he said in a slightly cold tone as Rachel's boss joined them. "If _any_." And then walked away.

Finch took Rachel's arm and pulled her aside out of anyone's earshot. "What're you doing, Rachel?"

"What are _you_ doing, Carl?" Rachel challenged.

"Looking out of you," Finch responded seriously and glanced around. "Rachel, Falcone's got half the city bought and paid for…drop it."

Rachel gave him a hard look. "How can you say that?"

"Because as much as I care about getting Falcone…I care more about you," Finch confessed.

Rachel sighed and smiled sadly. "That's sweet, Carl," she told him. "But we've been through all this…" she then pecked his cheek and walked away, the heels of her boots clicking on the hard floor; she was unaware that an homeless man hanging around the payphones, was actually Bruce in disguise and he'd seen the whole thing.

* * *

That night at the club, Falcone was in his office with Dr. Crane, and the crime boss slid a drink across his desk to the doctor.

"No more favors," Crane said coldly, not touching his drink. "Someone's sniffing around."

"I scratch your back, you scratch mine, Doc," Falcone reminded him. "I'm bringing in your shipments."

Crane scoffed. "We're _paying_ you for that."

"Maybe money isn't as interesting to me as favors," Falcone remarked, smirking.

Crane leaned forward and spoke with an icy calm voice. "I'm aware that you're not intimidated by me, Mr. Falcone," he admitted. "But you _know_ who I'm working for…and when he gets here-"

" _He's_ coming to Gotham?" Falcone interrupted, mildly alarmed.

Crane nodded. "And he's not going to want to hear that you've endangered our operation just to get your thugs out of jail time."

Falcone considered this, having heard stories about the man that Crane worked for, and then nodded. "Who's' bothering you?"

"There's a girl in the DA's office," Crane answered.

Falcone shrugged. "We'll buy her off."

Crane shook his head. "Not this one."

"Idealist, huh?" Falcone guessed, hating those types of people. "Well, there's an answer for that, too."

"I don't want to know," Crane said firmly.

"Yes, you do," Falcone countered.

* * *

Two nights later, Falcone arrived at his club and seated himself at his usual table, looking up when Flass approached and sat down. "I need you at the docks tomorrow night," he told the corrupted cop.

"Problem?" Flass questioned.

"Insurance," Falcone replied. "I don't want any problems on this last shipment."

Flass shrugged. "Sure," he promised. "Word on the street is you got a beef with someone in the DA's."

Falcone raised his eyebrows. "Is that right?"

"And that you've offered a price on going something about it," Flass added.

"What's your point, Flass?" Falcone questioned.

"You seen this girl?" Flass questioned. "Cute little assistant DA…that's a lot of heat to bring down, even in this town."

Falcone smirked. "Never underestimate Gotham," he advised. "Besides, people get mugged on the way home from work every day…"

* * *

Unknown to those inside, Bruce was once again disguised as a homeless man, was seated across from the club, and was adjusting a directional microphone hooked over his ear, having bumped against Flass earlier, planting a bug on him, and was now listening in on their conversation.

 _`"Sometimes it goes bad."`_

' _I need to keep Rachel safe,'_ Bruce thought, worried for the well-being of his best friend.

* * *

The next night at the docks, thugs were unloading boxes from an open container, and they froze when headlights suddenly lit them up as a sedan pulled up; Flass emerged, approached the boxes that were already unloaded, and opened one of them.

The cop reached inside and pulled out a Teddy bear. "Cute." He ripped the head off and pulled a plastic package filled with a white powder. "Oh?" he said with mock surprise. "What have we here?"

When no one responded, still frozen with fear, Flass stuffed the drugs back into the toy and tossed it to the nearest thug, who added it to a pile of bears, which were next to a pile of toy rabbits. "Get the rest unloaded." And walked away while the thugs went back to work.

* * *

Not far from the shipping containers, a limo was parked, and Falcone was sitting inside, examining a stuffed rabbit, and didn't look up when Flass got in.

"Looks fine out there," the corrupted cop reported and eyed the rabbit. "So the bears go straight to the dealers?"

Falcone nodded. "And the rabbits go to our man in the Narrows."

"What's the difference?" Flass questioned.

Falcone looked at the cop. "Ignorance is bliss, my friend," he advised. "Don't burden yourself with the secrets of scary people."

"Scarier than you?" Flass asked skeptically.

Falcone smiled grimly. " _Considerably_ scarier than me."

* * *

Meanwhile among the stacks of shipping containers, a thug next to an open container handed a box to another thug, who accepted the box and walked away with it; the first thug turned back to the container to pick up another box when he was suddenly yanked into the darkness with an echoing cry.

The cry made the other thugs pause and look back at the container uneasily.

"Steiss?" another thug called out, but got no answer; hesitatingly, he put down the box, pulled out his gun, just as a third thug came around the corner.

"Come on, we gotta-" the third thug began, but the moment he saw the gun, he pulled out his own, and they both moved cautiously toward the open container; reaching it, they both peered inside when several lamps above them shattered, startling the thugs, and they turned around when something made out of metal dropped to the ground as darkness advanced toward them.

One of the thugs bent down, picked the metal up, and examined what appeared to be bat-shaped, brushed-steel plate.

' _What the-?'_ he wondered and then noticed that his partner was staring up above him. "What?" and then looked up himself; high above them, a dark shape was hanging from a crane directly above him…a giant bat, wings folded, head pointed toward the ground. "What the hell-?"

Just then, the bat dropped, spreading its wings, and dropped on top of the two screaming thugs, one of which fled while the other was enveloped in darkness; the third thug bolted through the corridors of containers, breathing hard with fear, and then screamed when he was sideswiped by the same blackness.

* * *

As the screams echoed throughout the stacks, the thugs at the truck jumped and looked around with alarmed expressions; in the limo, both Falcone and Flass were startled by the screams, too.

"Stay here," Flass instructed the crime boss and then got out to investigate as the thugs drew their guns, and they also advanced into the stacks to find out what was going on to their friends.

* * *

Deep in the stacks, the thugs were being picked off one-by-one by a dark figure, some of them catching the glimpse of a large bat-like being before being yanked screaming into the darkness, and a few managed to get a few shots off before being pounced on; one thug was so jumpy that he was running around blindly, firing at moving shadows, and somehow managed not to hit any of his fellow thugs.

It got to the point that he ended up emptying his clip and fumbled to put a new one in his gun while finally screaming in frustration. " _Where are you?!_ "

"Here," a voice whispered, and the jumpy thug turned to find the Batman hanging upside-down behind him, and he screamed as he was enfolded by darkness.

* * *

Flass stopped short of entering the stacks, listening as the screams and gunfire continued, and came to a decision; he finally moved back to the limo, and stuck his head back inside.

"What the _hell's_ going on?!" Falcone demanded.

"You've got a _problem_ out there," Flass warned him. "Bail." And he hurried away to his own car, getting out of there as fast as he could.

* * *

Meanwhile, instead of taking the corrupt cop's advise, Falcone got out of the limo, and headed into the stacks to find out what the heck was going on with his men; following the shouts, screams, and gunfire, he moved through the stacks and turned a corner just in time to see a dark figure drop into the center of a loose ring made by five of his men, and soon they all were being taken out one at a time by the bat-like figure.

Alarmed, Falcone fled the scene and headed back out of the stacks; reaching the limo just as the last of the screams and gunfire faded away, he climbed inside and thumped the partition. "Let's go!"

When noting happen, he lowered the partition and saw that his driver was unconscious. "Shit!" terrified, he pulled out a shotgun, fumbled some bullets into it, and then yelped when a thump on the roof jolted the car, and it was followed by a series of loud thumps that had the crime boss almost wetting his pants.

Just as suddenly, the thumps stopped and Falcone shipped the shotgun from side to side, aiming at shadows, some real, most imagined, and yet he couldn't see any sign of the attacker. "What the _hell_ are you?" he muttered under his breath.

 _SMASH!_ Glass shattered as a pair of black-clad arms shot through the sunroof, grabbed the crime boss by the lapels, and yanked him up through the opening, so that they were nose-to-nose; the Batman crouched, panther-like, on the roof of the limo with his magnificent cloak billowing around, and he glared at Falcone through his black cowl.

"I'm Batman," he growled and then head-butt the crime boss, knocking him out; off to the side and warming his hands was a homeless man wearing a familiar coat, and he stared in stunned amazement at the scene. "Nice coat," the Dark Knight rasped before disappearing intro the night sky with his victim.

The homeless man looked at his coat and then up to the shadows. "Thanks."

* * *

Later that same night, Rachel Dawes was riding the monorail train home and was staring out at the lights of Gotham; even though the train was running perfectly, the inside of the car was filthy and was covered in graffiti, and the only other person in the car with her was a thin man seated on the other end and was talking on his cellphone.

Hearing the announcement that they were reaching her stop, Rachel stood up, grabbed her bag, and then got off the train the moment it stopped and the doors slid open; moments before the doors shut again, the thin man suddenly jumped up and got off the train, too.

* * *

Rachel made her way down the dimly lit stairs, she became aware that the thin man from the train was following her and she instinctively pulled her bag close; just as she reached a landing and was heading for the next flight of stairs to reach the car park below, another man appeared at the bottom of the stairs, where he lingered, half-blocking the exit.

' _Oh, you've_ got _to be kidding me,'_ Rachel thought, slipping a hand into her bag as she continued down the stairs as the thin man quickened his walking speed so that he was almost catching up with her; as she neared the bottom of the stairs, the waiting man grabbed her arm, spun her around, and pushed her back up the stairs toward his partner.

Reacting, she slammed her bag into the head of the thin man, forcing him back, turned back just as the other man reached for her ankle, yanked her hand out of her bag to reveal a black taser, and aimed it at him.

"Hold it!" Rachel warned as he hesitated for a moment; she was unaware that a black figure dropped on the man behind her, punching and knocking him out, and the guy facing her, saw this, and bolted, fleeing the area. "That's right!" she shouted after him. "You better run!"

She turned back to deal with the other man, and gasped when she saw crouching on the railing behind her, a man in an armored suit that made her instantly think of a bat; instinctively, she fired the taser so that the projectiles shot into the front of the armor, trailing wires, and they sparked for a few seconds.

The Batman barely reacted; the only thing he did was calmly yank the wires out and dropped them to the ground. "Try mace," he advised in a raspy voice and then nodded to the unconscious man. "Falcone sent them to kill you."

"Why?" Rachel asked, even though she could probably guess why.

"You rattled his cage," the Batman answered and then tossed some photos onto the floor in front of her, and she saw that they were of Judge Faden with some pretty girls that definitely weren't his wife.

"What's this?" Rachel questioned.

"Leverage," the Dark Knight responded.

Rachel frowned. "For what?"

"To get things moving."

"Who are you?" Rachel inquired.

"Someone like you," the Batman informed her. "Someone who'll rattle the cages."

Rachel bent down, picked up the photos, and when she looked back up, the Dark Knight was gone. _'Who the_ hell _was that guy? And how can I contact him again?'_

"Ma'am?" a voice asked, making her jump and turn to find a cop look up at her. "Is everything okay?"

She nodded, reported the attempt on her life, and then headed home to ponder what this all would mean in taking down Falcone, especially with the stuff she now had on a certain judge.

* * *

Back at the docks, Jim Gordon arrived at the scene, where a crowd of curious people were already gathering to see what the cops were doing and were being kept back in order to not damage any evidence at this surreal crime scene, and the press were already there, taking pictures and firing questions about the scene; coffee in hand, he got out of his car and raised his eyebrows at the sight of a line of beaten thugs tied up and were sitting against the container full of drugs.

"Falcone's men?" one cop asked.

Gordon shrugged and sipped his coffee. "Does it matter?" he responded. "We'll never tie him to it, anyway."

"I wouldn't be too sure of that," said a second cop, nodding toward something nearby.

Gordon looked in the direction that the cop was pointing, and saw that a group of officers were trying to free Falcone's unconscious form from the front of a harbor light that'd been turned on, and they weren't having too much luck since he was chained up. _'What the-?'_ he walked over, noting how the crime boss's arms were spread and that his coat was ripped and hanging from them in a strange pattern.

"What the hell is _that_?" a cop muttered, looking toward the cloudy sky. "Looks like…" and Gordon followed his gaze up to where the beam of light was casting Falcone's shadow onto the clouds. "Like a _bat_."

' _It_ does _look like a bat,'_ Gordon thought, staring at the symbol as he recalled the mysterious visitor that had told him to watch for a sign. "Cut him down," he ordered and walked away, thinking; he paused when something else caught is eye a block away, and he was _almost_ certain that he saw a dark figure, wearing a cape, perched on a ledge, and was watching. _'A dark figure…a dark knight…'_

* * *

The next morning in the bullpen of police headquarters, Commissioner Loeb was addressing the captains, sergeants, and lieutenants about the massive arrest last night and what was on the front page of the morning paper; Gordon was leaning against a doorway in the back, and was hiding a smile at the older man's annoyed expression.

" _Unacceptable_ ," Loeb growled, smacking the front page of the newspaper, which had a colorful picture of Falcone chained to the harbor light; it'd taken several hours to get the crime boss freed of the chains and booked into the local prison. "I don't care if it's rival gangs, Guardian Angels or the _goddamn_ Salvation Army – get them _off_ the streets, and _off_ the front page."

"They say it was one guy…or _thing_ ," Captain Simpson reported, having questioned some of the thugs, at least the ones that had been conscious enough to get an answer from.

Loeb scoffed. "Dipping into their own supply – it was some _asshole_ in a costume," he snapped while the room chuckled.

Thoughtfully, Gordon raised his hand and Loeb cautiously nodded at him. "This guy _did_ deliver us one of the city's _biggest_ crime lords," he commented.

Loeb glared, not wanting to admit that the younger man was right. " _No one_ takes the law into their own hands in _my_ city, understand?" he growled and was glad when Gordon gave a simple nod in response. "Get back to work." And went back to his office.

* * *

Meanwhile at the DA's office, Rachel was meeting with her boss, Finch, in his office, and tossed the morning newspaper onto his desk, beaming at the huge photo of Falcone strapped to the light; she'd already had added the photo to a book that she kept her favorite photos and articles in.

"No way to bury it now."

Finch agreed, but he was still worried. "Maybe so, but there's Judge Faden-"

Rachel grinned. "I've got Faden covered." _'And when he sees those photos that I have of him…'_

Finch raised an eyebrow, but didn't ask. "And this "bat" they're babbling about?" he asked skeptically.

Rachel hesitated for only a second. "Even if these guys'll swear in court to being trashed by a giant bat…we have Falcone _at_ the scene," she stated, "drugs, prints, cargo manifest – this bat character gave us _everything_."

Finch considered all of this and then grinned, seeing that she was right, and that there was _no way_ they were going to lose Falcone this time. "Damn right. Let's get frying."

* * *

Over at Wayne Manor, Bruce was sound asleep in the master bedroom when Alfred entered, setting down a breakfast tray on a table, and then opened the curtains so that the bright sunlight fell on the young man's face, waking him up.

Bruce groaned and covered his head with the sheet and blanket. _`"Bats are nocturnal."`_

"Bats maybe," Alfred agreed, moving the tray closer to the bed, "but even for billionaire playboys, 3 o'clock is pushing it. The price of living a double life, I fear." He then picked up the morning paper. "Your theatrics made an impression," he added.

Hearing this, Bruce uncovered his head and, blinking in the bright light, took the newspaper and sat up to read the front page, grinning at the sight of Falcone chained up. "Theatricality and deception are powerful weapons, Alfred," he remarked, recalling the glee he'd felt at wrapping the chains around the crime boss's body. "It's a start."

Alfred frowned at the dark bruises that were forming across the young man's torso and arms, and was already imagining the questions that would be asked about the injuries if one was to see Bruce bare-chested in the near future. "If those are to be the first of many injuries," he said slowly, "it would be wise to find a suitable excuse. Polo, for instance."

Bruce made a face as he set aside the newspaper and stood up, reaching for a tall glass that held a green veggie drink in it. "I'm not learning polo, Alfred."

Alfred wasn't about to back off on this particular argument with his young charge. "Strange injuries, a nonexistent social life," he tsked, "these things beg the question of what, _exactly_ , Bruce Wayne does with his time. _And_ his money."

Bruce considered this as he downed the drink, put the glass back, and then, with a straight back, fell forward onto the floor, doing a dizzying amount of fast push-ups. "What _does_ someone like me do?"

Alfred shrugged as he watched with concern. "Drive sport cars, date movie stars," he suggested. "Buy things that aren't for sale." He then smiled slightly. "Who knows, Master Wayne – if you start _pretending_ to have fun, you might even have a little by accident," he added, and Bruce actually chuckled.

"I just might."

* * *

A/N: Whew! This one is done, see you all next week. R&R everyone!


	8. Chapter 7: TERROR

Batman Begins: The First Mission

A/N: I've returned! Sorry for sounding snappy in the author notes last week, but real life has been hitting me hard these past weeks, plus I'm fighting a cold that's messing with my head, and my baby sister just graduated from high school last night, so I was up a later than usual last night.

Read, review, and enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from _Batman_ or from _Batman Begins;_ I only own the characters that I created.

* * *

 **CHAPTER SEVEN: TERROR**

Far out in the Arctic Ocean, a Coast Guard helicopter touched down on the back of a heavily damaged and deserted cargo ship; two Coast Guardsmen, armed with flashlights, jumped onto the deck of the ship to take a look around, and they were baffled to see that the entire deck was linked with massive holes.

Exchanging an uneasy look with his partner, one of the men shined his light into the nearest massive hole.

* * *

At Wayne Enterprises, Earle was at his desk when an executive walked with a troubled expression.

"Sir, we have a situation."

"What kind of situation?" Earle asked, having received word that Judge Faden was now under investigation and wouldn't be taking any new cases for a while, which meant his own plans of keeping Wayne Enterprises out of Bruce's hands was currently behind schedule, and he was already in a bad mood.

The executive swallowed. "Coast guard picked up one of our cargo ships last night," he reported uneasily. "Heavily damaged. Crew missing, probably dead."

Earle frowned, concern etching across his face. "What happened?"

"The ship was carrying an prototype weapon," the executive explained. "A microwave emitter…"

* * *

 _`"'An industrial machine the size of a small van sits in a cargo bay, watched by two security guards.'_

 _`"'It's designed for desert warfare – it uses focused microwaves to vaporize the enemy's water supply…'_

 _`"'The security guards are grabbed from behind, their necks are snapped, and then two men approach the machine and turn it on.'_

 _`"'Looks like someone fired it up…'_

 _`"'What caused the damage?'_

 _`"'The two men brace themselves against the machine as it shudders, emitting energy in a wave-'_

 _`"'The expansion of water into steam creates an enormous pressure wave…'_

 _`"'Pips explode, belching steam…all over the ship, sailors are tossed around by exploding pipes and drains…'"`_

* * *

"It looks like someone fired it up at sea," the executive concluded. "Judging from the damage to the ship and cargo."

Earle was floored by the news. "Where's the weapon?" he asked.

The executive shifted uneasily. "It's missing."

' _Good lord,'_ Earle thought, wondering who would want the weapon and why they would turn it on while in a ship of all places.

* * *

That night in downtown Gotham, a million-dollar Bugatti Veyron pulled up to the valet station at one of the fancy hotels, and Bruce emerged, impeccably tailored, from the driver side; the valet scrambled to the passenger side and opened the door to find two blondes, one on the others' lap.

"Nice car," he commented, helping them up and took the keys offered by Bruce.

Bruce smiled. "You should see my other one."

* * *

Inside the restaurant of the hotel, tables were positioned around a decorative infinity pool, and Earle was seated at one of the tables with his wife, the Pearson's, and other guests; he saw Bruce enter with the blondes on his arms, fought back a sigh, and then waved the young man over to join them.

* * *

A few hours later, the table was littered with bottles and empty plates, and the conversation had turned to the incident involving the mysterious Batman.

"At least he's getting _something_ done," said one of the female guests.

The husband of the female guest sighed. "Bruce, help me out here."

Bruce turned from the blondes as they stood and walked over to the pool, and smiled. "A guy who dresses up like a bat _clearly_ has issues."

"But he put Falcone behind bars," the female guest pointed out.

"And now the cops are trying to bring him in," her husband pointed out, "so what does that tell you?"

"They're jealous?" his wife suggested.

"From what I've heard, the commissioner is downright pissed with this Batman character," Philip remarked while Julia just sniffed slightly, watching with disapproval as one of the blondes slipped off her dress and lowered herself into the pool, quickly followed by the other one, who was giggling.

Bruce repressed a laugh at Julia's expression and focused on what Philip had said. "If he's so benevolent why does he hide his face?"

"Maybe he's protecting the people he cares about from reprisals," the female guest suggested and there was some general agreement to this statement, and then the Maitre'd sided up with an annoyed expression.

"Sir," he said to Bruce, "the pool is for decoration, and your friends do not have swim wear."

Bruce glanced toward the pool, where his dates were currently swimming and drawing a lot of looks from the various guests, and then smirked. "Well, they're European."

The Maitre'd scowled, clearly not amused. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave." And became exasperated when the young man pulled out a checkbook. "It's not a question of money."

Now grinning, Bruce turned to Earle while writing out an amount of money on a check. "Mr. Earle, I'm buying this hotel," he informed the older man, which got a mixture of reactions from the others at the table, Julia was indignant, Philip was chuckling with the other guests, while Earle nodded patiently, and the Maitre'd was dumbstruck. "Will you please broker a deal?"

"Of course," said Earle.

Pleased, Bruce turned to the stunned man. "And I'm making some new rules for the pool area," he added as one of the blondes called to him; he stood, went over, and let them pull him backward into the water with a laugh.

Earle shook his head and turned away to continue the conversation about the Batman, saying that the guy needed a straitjacket when the female guest stated that he deserved a medal.

* * *

A while later, Bruce and the blondes, who were now wearing white hotel robes, left the hotel and were now waiting for the valet, who pulled up in the Bugatti; Rachel, wearing a black dress with a black shawl and black heels, was walking into the hotel for a dinner date, and stopped when she saw her childhood friend, soaking wet.

"Bruce?"

Surprised, Bruce turned and smiled when he saw her. "Rachel."

Rachel her eyebrows at Bruce, who was still damp. "I'd heard you were back," she commented with a faint smile. "What are you doing?"

"Just…swimming," Bruce responded with a shrug. "It's good to see you."

Bruce shrugged. "Oh, kind of all over, you know."

"I missed you – you were gone a long time," Rachel told him, which was true.

"I know, did you…?" Bruce started and then cleared his throat before trying again. "I mean, how are things…for you?"

Now Rachel shrugged. "The same. The job's getting worse."

' _Not for long.'_ "Can't change the world on your own," Bruce remarked.

"What choice do I have?" Rachel asked honestly. "You're too busy… _swimming_."

Bruce winced slightly at the jab. "Rachel, all this…it's not all I am, inside I'm… _different_." Oh how he wanted to tell her that he was Batman, but he couldn't…not yet.

Just then one of the blondes called out from the front seat of the car. "Come on, Bruce! We have some more hotels we want you to buy!"

Rachel glanced at the blondes and then looked back at her friend sadly. "Bruce, deep down, you may be the same great little kid you used to be…" she sighed "but it's not who you are underneath…" she then poked his chest. "It's what you _do_ that defines you." She then walked into the hotel and Bruce watched her go sadly.

* * *

The next day at the county jail, Crane, briefcase in hand, was buzzed through a set of thick steel and glass doors, and was met inside by a prison official, who led him down a corridor.

"Dr. Crane thanks for coming down."

"Not at all," said Crane politely. "So he cut his wrists?" he inquired.

The prison official nodded. "Probably looking for an insanity plea," she guessed, "but if anything happened…"

Crane nodded. "Of course, better safe than sorry."

* * *

Falcone was waiting for Crane in a white interview room, where his wrists were bandaged, and he smirked when the psychiatrist entered. "Dr. Crane, it's all too much, the walls are closing in, blah, blah, blah," he rattled up and then grimaced. "Couple more days of this food, it'll be true."

Crane placed his briefcase on the table and sat down, unfazed by Falcone's performance. "What do you want?" he asked, cutting to the point.

Falcone took the hint, his face going hard. "I wanna know how you're gonna convince me to keep my mouth shut."

"About what?" Crane inquired. "You don't know anything."

"I know you wouldn't want to cops taking a closer look at the drugs they seized," Falcone said slyly, and smirked at Crane's small reaction to this. "Odds are, they'll be asking the CEO of Pearson's Pharmaceuticals to examine the drugs since he's a big supporter and sponsor of their anti-drug task force and rehab program," he added. "I _know_ about your experiments on the inmates at your nuthouse," he continued as the young man's eyes narrowed. "I don't get into business with someone without finding out their dirty secrets," he explained. "Those goons you hired… _I_ own the muscle in this town." He leaned forward. "I've been smuggling your stuff in for _months_ ," he reminded him, "so whatever he's got planned, it's big. And I want in."

Crane studied the crime boss thoughtfully for a moment and then sighed. "I already know what he'll say…that we should kill you."

Glaring with contempt, Falcone leaned forward. "Even _he_ can't touch me in here," he declared. "Not in _my_ town."

Crane shrugged, popped the locks on his briefcase, and then removed his glasses. "Would you like to see my mask?" he asked, reaching inside the case, connected something, and then pulled out a burlap sack that had eye holes cut into it, and twine stitching for a mouth. "I use it in my experiments," he explained. "Probably not very frightening to a guy like you" he pulled the mask over his head, muffling his voice as he reached back into the briefcase _`"but those crazies…they can't stand it…"`_

Falcone stared at him, warily and uneasily of where this was going. "When did the _nut_ take over the asylum-" he began when _WHUMP!_ A cloud of white smoke shot out of the briefcase and into his face; coughing, he pushed his chair back, surprised, and then began screaming when he locked eyes with Crane's mask.

 _`"They_ scream _and_ cry _…"`_ growled Crane, lizard tongues flickering out of the holes in his mask as he stood and leaned toward the terrified crime boss _`"…as much as you're doing now."`_

Falcone continued screaming as the eyes and mouth of Crane's mask burst into flames.

* * *

Barely a minute later, Crane emerged with his briefcase in hand while Falcone's screams continued from within the room, and he turned to the startled prison official. "Oh, he's not faking," he confirmed. "Not that one." And the official nodded gravely. "I'll talk to the judge, see if I can get him moved to the secure wing at Arkham," he continued. "I can't treat him here." And he quickly left to make a few phone calls while quietly smiling to himself.

* * *

At Pearson Pharmaceuticals, Philip was going over the results of the drugs that'd been tested and he was frowning at them when one of his assistants approached. "Yes?"

"There's a Sergeant Jim Gordon here to see you, sir."

"Send him in," said Philip, reading through the results again. "This can't be right…"

Gordon entered the office and cleared his throat. "Mr. Pearson?"

Philip looked up from the results and nodded, shaking the cop's hand. "Gordon, good to see you since the commissioner isn't interested."

"Loeb has a different approach to what he considers to be important," said Gordon and nodded to the papers on the desk. "Are those the results from the drugs we seized at the docks last night?"

"They are," Philip confirmed, "and while most of the drugs are the typical ones that Falcone brings in, there's something _else_ as well."

"And what's that?" Gordon asked.

Philip sighed. "Unfortunately that's where both me and the guys in my research labs are stumped," he admitted. "Whatever it is, the chemical compound seemed to hint that it's some kind of hallucinogenic, and based on what I know about hallucinogenic chemicals…this could be a nasty one."

Gordon frowned. "How nasty?"

"I say bad enough to induce an heart attack or even a fatal stroke in less then a minute," Philip responded. "Of course, it'll depend on the dosage, and how the person is exposed to it."

Gordon didn't like the sound of this. "Will you let me know anything else that you find out about this hallucinogenic chemical?" he requested.

Philip nodded. "I will," he promised. "There's a few more tests that my people are currently running, and the results should be in soon."

"Thanks."

* * *

That night, Gordon was at his apartment, where his pregnant wife, Barbara, was trying to get their two-year-old, Jim Jr., to eat; he kissed her, picked up the trash, and headed outside; Thunder rumbled overhead as Gordon stepped out onto the fire escape, put the trash into the trashcan and put the lid back on.

"Storm's coming," a raspy voice said.

Gordon started and looked up, spotting the Batman, who was crouched just above him on the fire escape. "The scum's getting jumpy because you stood up to Falcone."

"It's a start," said the Dark Knight. "Your partner was at the docks with Falcone."

Gordon rolled his eyes, unsurprised. "He moonlights as a low-level enforcer."

"They were splitting the shipment in two," the Batman informed him. "Only half were going to the dealers."

This was news to the cop. "Why? What about the other half? Unless…"

"Unless what?" the Dark Knight questioned.

"I went to Pearson Pharmaceuticals earlier to see Philip Pearson, who is overseeing the testing of the drugs from the docks, and he found something strange," Gordon explained. "Pearson isn't sure, but he says that it looked to be a hallucinogenic chemical compound of some kind."

Batman considered this discovery. "Flass knows."

Gordon shook his head, but knew that was probably true. "He won't talk."

"He'll talk to me," said Batman confidentially.

"Commissioner Loeb set up a massive task force to catch you," Gordon informed the dark knight. "He thinks you're dangerous."

Batman didn't seem really surprise by this. "What do you think?"

Gordon shrugged. "I think you're trying to help," he said, looking a way for a moment and then looked back, only to find that the dark knight had disappeared "but I've been wrong before." _'I just hope that I'm not wrong this time.'_

* * *

It was pouring ran and Flass was at a falafel stand, where the vendor was piling fixings on one for the corrupt cop, who helped himself to a couple of banknotes, ignoring the protest from the vendor as he walked away, stuffing the falafel into his mouth; he was walking down a dark street, the rain soaking him when he was suddenly yanked from the pavement and pulled up between two buildings while his food landed on the pavement below.

Screaming, he was pulled up and up until he found himself face-to-face with the Batman, who had rain pouring off his cowl.

"Where were the other drugs going?" Batman demanded, using a cord that was wrapped around Flass' ankle.

"I don't know!" Flass gasped, scared. "I swear to God-"

"Swear to _me_!" Batman snarled and he dropped Flass three flights down on the wire before yanking him back up.

"I never knew …never…" Flass whispered, terrified "shipments went to some guy for a couple of days before they went to the dealers."

"Why?" Batman growled, suspecting that it probably meant that Philip was right about the hallucinogenic chemicals.

Flass swallowed. "There was something else in the drugs," he whispered, "something _hidden_."

"What?" Batman asked.

"I don't know – I never went to the drop-off!" Flass cried. "It's in the Narrows – cops only go there in force…"

"Do I look like a cop?" the dark knight growled before dropping Flass, who screamed, back to the ground, slowed until the terrified cop was less then a foot above the pavement, and then released the cord, dropping the overweight jerk onto his face.

Flass just whimpered in response, the cold rain soaking into his clothes, along with the remains of his food, which he was now lying on top of.

* * *

A cargo ship just arrived at the docks and Finch was walking through the canyons of shipping containers with two men, checking the tags with a flashlight and stopped at one.

" _This_ is the one I'm talking about," said Finch, frowning.

"What's your problem with it?" one of the dock employees asked.

"It _shouldn't_ exist," Finch snapped. "This ship left Singapore with 246 containers and arrived with 24 _7_. I'm guessing there's something I'm not supposed to find in there."

"Listen, counselor…we know the way things work in this town," said one of the dock employees conspiratorially. "You and me…we don't what to know what's in Mr. Falcone's crate."

Finch scowled at him. "Things are working different. Open it."

The dock employee shrugged, hauled the doors open, and Finch looked inside, finding an industrial machine the size of a small van. Frowning, he ran his flashlight over it and picked out the Wayne Enterprises on the side.

"What the _hell_ is this thing?"

Behind the DA, the first dock employee raised a silenced gun and fired; the second dock guy helped drag the body into the container.

* * *

Meanwhile in the Narrows, which was an island located in the middle of the Gotham River and was a ramshackle labyrinth of crumbling public housing, makeshift additions growing like fungus around the insane asylum; it was a walled city, slick with rain. Batman landed on a rooftop of one of the many housing projects and then dropped onto one of the fire escapes.

He climbed slightly along the wall, window to window until he stopped at one, pulled a small black optic from his utility belt, extended it into a tiny periscope, and then angled it to look in the window across the way.

Through it the dark knight could see into a darken apartment, where the furniture was stacked up around the walls, and in the center was a large pile of stuff rabbits; just then a window near his perch opened, and, accompanied by the noise of voices raised in anger, a little boy climbed out onto the fire escape, rested his arms on the railing, and then stared out at the Narrows.

Batman peered at the boy and made a small noise, getting the kid's attention; when the boy looked over, his eyes when wide when he saw the dark knight, who put a finger to his lips to indicate silence.

"It's _you_ , isn't it?" the boy whispered and nodded to the apartment just ahead. "You're here to get that guy? They already took him. To the hospital." And he pointed to Arkham Asylum.

 _`"Get your ass back in here!"`_ a female voice screamed from inside.

Reluctantly, the boy turned to go back inside and then stopped, looking back at the dark knight. "The other kids won't believe me."

Batman cocked his head slightly and then handed the kid the optic; the boy's face light up, took it, and, after smiling broadly, climbed back inside. The dark knight then swung across to the other apartment, opened the window, and climbed inside.

* * *

Once inside, Batman picked up one of the rabbits from the pile and discovered that it'd been split open and the contents removed; noises from the hallway caught his attention, and he melted into the shadows.

Moments later, the door to the place opened and Crane entered with two thugs, and he indicated the toys. "Get rid of all traces."

"Better torch the whole place," one of the thugs suggested.

Crane nodded and then noticed rain spattering of the sill of the open window and onto the floor. _'Why is that window open?'_ and he went over to it to investigate while one of the thugs began pouring gasoline onto the toys while his partner prepared a couple of Molotov cocktails.

The first thug continued pouring gasoline around and then went into the bathroom, where, after he shut the door, he set the container on the toilet tank, and was lifting the lid to relieve himself when he noticed something in the cracked mirror, and then was promptly smashed face first into it by Batman.

* * *

Hearing the crashing noise from the bathroom, the second thug turned, holding a lit Molotov cocktail, and then a cord wrapped around the bottle and yanked it into the shadows, where the fame was extinguished; the thug stared into the shadows uneasily when Batman launched himself out of the bathroom and smashed him to the ground before the thug could pull his gun.

Having knocked the thug out, the dark knight stood and turned to face Crane, who was now wearing his mask, and ended up getting a face-full of white powder; gasping and choking, he staggered toward the doctor, lost his balance, and fell to the floor. He looked up at Crane and saw flaming eyes, elongated limbs, and the monster was spinning like a dervish.

Crane picked up one of the bottles and smashed it over Batman's head, stunning him while his armor was covered and soaked with gasoline; as the dark knight struggled to reach the window, now being chased by bats, he picked up the lighter and flicked it open.

 _`"Need a light?"`_ Crane asked, his voice muffled by the mask as the dark knight turned to face him, and he tossed the lighter forward, causing Batman to burst into flames; still in the grips of a hallucination, the flaming bat spun and leapt desperately at the window.

* * *

Seconds later, the flaming dark knight smashed through the window, fell through the air as he managed to deploy one wing, which caused him to spiral downward until it hooked a railing, slowing him just enough that he landed on the wet ground with a loud thump and sizzle as the flames went out.

Groaning, Batman rolled around until the last of the flames were out so that his batsuit was now smoldering; ignoring the curious looks that the people in the street were giving him, he got up and lurched into an alley; he raised his grapple gun, fired it up at the enclosed roof, rode it up, and punched his way through the wire and metal.

The dark knight crawled onto the roof, rolled onto his back, staring up at the skyscrapers of Gotham, the rain blurring his vision as he continued to be assaulted by more images of his parents' dying again and again around, along with hundreds of bats; fumbling at his belt, he pulled out a tiny phone, and gasped hoarsely into it.

"Alfred?! Alfred?! Help!"

* * *

Unknown amount of time later, Batman was now curled up in the backseat of the Rolls, and Alfred was driving, glancing up at the rear-view mirror at his charge, whose was flinching at invisible antagonists.

" _Blood_!" Batman cried as he was surrounded by bats. "Alfred?! Blood! A sample- take a sa- sample- poisoned…" and then he slipped into unconsciousness as the images continued to overwhelm him.

* * *

A/N: I now curse you all with an evil cliffy! MAWAHAHAHAHAHA! R&R everyone!


	9. Chapter 8: BACKUP

Batman Begins: The First Mission

A/N: I'm back and I'm posting this on my new laptop!

Read, review, and enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from _Batman_ or from _Batman Begins;_ I only own the characters that I created.

* * *

 **CHAPTER EIGHT: "BACKUP"**

When Bruce regain consciousness, he was lying in the bed in the master bedroom and Alfred was sitting in a nearby chair, stirring a glass of soda water.

"How long did I sleep?" he asked groggily, his voice hoarse.

"Two days," Alfred answered, handing him the glass. "It's your birthday. Many happen returns."

Bruce took the glass and sipped it, wincing due to a headache. "I've felt these effects before… but this was so _potent_ ," he muttered. "Some kind of weaponized hallucinogen, administered in aerosol form…"

"You are _definitely_ hanging out at the wrong clubs," said Lucius, stepping up behind the chair that Alfred was sitting in while the young man had a deer-in-the-headlights expression on his face.

"I called Lucius when your condition worsened after the first day," Alfred explained and Bruce relaxed, slightly.

"I analyzed your blood," Lucius explained, "isolating the receptor compounds and the protein-based catalyst."

Bruce raised his eyebrows, the explanation going over his head. "Am I meant to understand any of that?" he asked.

Lucius shook his head. "No, I just wanted you to know how hard it was," he countered. "Bottom line I synthesized an antidote."

Bruce nodded. "Could you make more?" he asked. "I'm certain that Philip Pearson could use it since he found the same hallucinogenic compound in the drugs from the docks."

Lucius nodded. "I can get it to Philip," he agreed. "Why? You planning on gassing yourself again?"

Bruce smiled. "Well, you know how it is, Mr. Fox," he said lightly. "You're out on the town, looking for kicks…someone's passing around the weaponized hallucinogens?"

"I'll bring you what I have," Lucius promised. "And I'll hint to Philip of what to do. The antidote should serve as inoculation for now. Alfred, always a pleasure." And he walked out of the room.

"Lucius," said Alfred and then gave his young charge a stern look. "Get more sleep."

* * *

Later that same day, Rachel stopped by the manor, where the main hall was being filled with tables of food, decorations were being placed on the walls, and other things were being done in preparation for the birthday party that night.

Alfred, who was wearing an blue apron over his usual outfit, minus the jacket, greeted her at the door and was trying to convince her to stay for the party. "Are you sure you won't come in?"

"I have to get back," Rachel said regretfully, having been looking forward to being inside the manor since it'd been seven years since the last time. "I just wanted to leave this." And she handed him a small gift-wrapped package.

Just then, Bruce showed up, wearing a robe over his pjs. "Rachel?"

Rachel smiled slightly at his messed hair and red eyes as he came over and Alfred walked away, after handing him the gift. "Looks like someone's been burning the candle at both ends," she remarked, chuckling when the young man flushed. "Must've been quite an occasion."

"Well, it is my birthday," Bruce said sheepishly.

"I know – I'm sorry, I can't come tonight," Rachel admitted. "I was just dropping off your present." And then her cellphone began ringing; sighing, she answered it. "Rachel Dawes." And her expression changed to that of anger and confusion. "What?! Who authorized that?!" her eyes narrowed with anger and her tone turned cold. "Get Crane there right now," she ordered, "don't take no for an answer…call Dr. Lehmann, we'll need our own assessment on the judge's desk by morning, and also call Philip Pearson at Pearson Pharmaceuticals to have him down there to help with the assessment." She then closed her phone angrily.

"What's wrong?" Bruce asked, concerned.

"It's Falcone," Rachel informed him, frustrated. "Dr. Crane moved him to Arkham Asylum on suicide watch."

' _That can't be good,'_ Bruce thought. "You're going to Arkham now?" he questioned. "It's in the Narrows, Rachel."

Rachel understood why her friend was voicing his objection. "You have yourself a great time – some of us have work to do. Happy birthday, Bruce." She then left to get back to her car and to deal with this new crisis.

Bruce opened the present and found a note that said _Finders keepers_ ; he picked up and the note and found the arrowhead underneath it. _'I need to make sure that Rachel doesn't get hurt, or worse, killed.'_

* * *

Soon, Bruce was hurrying through the main hall and Alfred was in pursuit, clutching the open present in one hand.

"But Master Wayne," Alfred protested, "the guests will be arriving."

"Keep them happy until I arrive," Bruce instructed. "Tell them that joke you know." And he hurried off; Alfred stopped and watched him go, exasperated.

* * *

Entering the study, Bruce went to the piano, hit four notes, and the bookcase swung open long enough for him to enter; he headed down a wrought iron spiral staircase, stepped onto the working dumb waiter at its center. He pulled a leaver, releasing the lift, which plummeted vertiginously downward.

Soon the lift hit the bottom with a great rattle of chains, Bruce exited it and headed over to a padlocked box; he opened it, revealing the batsuit, which hung there, like a phantom, its black eyes were staring back at him, and he reached for it.

It was time to become the Batman again.

* * *

Meanwhile at the Applied Sciences Division, Lucius was using a mass spectrometer to produce more of the antidote, and was writing down instructions at the same time.

"Having fun?"

Startled, Lucius swung around in his chair and was surprised to Earle standing nearby. "Bill, what's a big shot like you doing in a place like this?" he asked, removing his glasses.

"Has Wayne been around much?" Earle asked, ignoring the question.

"In and out," Lucius answered. "Nice kid."

"Forget about kissing his ass to get back in, Lucius," Earle advised. "Despite the name, he's only an employee."

Lucius raised his eyebrows at this. "You came all the way down here to tell me that?"

Earle shifted uncomfortably and changed the subject. "Actually, I need information," he requested, pulling on his own glasses and checked his notes. "The Wayne Enterprises 47-B, T-ME."

Becoming thoughtful, Lucius ran a check on his computer and got a hit. "It's a microwave emitter," he read "designed to vaporize an enemy's water supply."

"I know all that," said Earle. "Any other applications?"

Lucius thought for a moment, turning away from his computer. "Well, as I recall, rumor was, they dispersing water-based chemical agents into the air…" he then trailed off and stared at the older man. "But that would be illegal, wouldn't it?"

"Cut the crap, Fox," Earle snapped, once again avoiding the question. "I need everything on the project development up to my office right away." And he started walking away.

"What happened…you lose one?" Lucius called after him, starting to connect the missing emitter and the weaponzied toxin together. _'I pray that I'm wrong.'_

Earle paused and turned back to face the black man, his expression turning cold. "I'm merging Applied Sciences with Archiving," he announced. "You're top of the early retirement list…" and smiled at Lucius' startled expression. "Didn't you get the memo?" and left.

Lucius sat frozen in his seat for a moment, and then jumped when the mass spectrometer beeped; swallowing back his rage, he turned to the machine to extract the results. _'I know that Bill has been wanting to get rid of me…but that's just low, even for him.'_

* * *

Night had fallen when Rachel arrived at Arkham and was now standing outside the room that Falcone was residing in, and through the window in the door, she watched the older man, who was strapped to a bed, and listened as he mumbled the same word over and over again while staring up at the ceiling blankly.

"Scarecrow…s-scarecrow…s-s…"

Rachel turned when Crane approached her and it was clear that he wasn't thrilled to see her in the slightest, which was fine with her.

"Ms. Dawes, this is most irregular," he protested. "I've nothing to add to the report I filed with the judge."

"Well, I have questions about _your_ report," Rachel retorted. "Such as, isn't it _convenient_ for a fifty-two-year-old man with no history of mental illness to have a complete psychotic break just when he's about to be indicted?

Sighing, Crane motioned to the cell. "You can see for yourself, there's nothing _convenient_ about his symptoms."

Rachel did consider the condition of the crime boss, but she wasn't about to back down. "What's 'scarecrow'?"

"Patients suffering delusional episodes often focus their paranoia onto an external tormentor, usually one conforming to the Jungian archetypes." He shrugged. "In this case, a scarecrow."

* * *

Outside on a ledge near one of the many windows, Batman was adjusting the mikes in the ears of his cowl as he listened, having managed to slip a bug onto the doctor's suit during their encounter two nights ago.

* * *

Frowning, Rachel looked back at Falcone and noted the glazed look in the crime boss's eyes. "He's drugged."

Crane nodded. "Psychopharmacology is my primary field," he explained, "I'm a strong advocate." He then looked at Falcone. "Outside he was a giant," he continued. "In here, only the mind can grant you power."

"You enjoy the reversal," said Rachel coldly.

Crane shrugged and smiled. "I respect the mind's power over the body," he said confidently. "It's why I do what I do."

"And I do what _I_ do to put scum like Falcone behind bars, _not_ in therapy," Rachel said harshly, having had enough. "I want my own psychiatric consultant to have full access to Falcone, including blood work to find out _exactly_ what you have him on," she ordered as she headed for the elevator and Crane followed.

"First thing tomorrow, then," Crane promised, entered the elevator with Rachel, and put a key into the panel.

" _Tonight_ ," Rachel snapped. "I've already paged Dr. Lehmann over at County General and Philip Pearson is on his way here to oversee everything personally."

"As you wish," said Crane, turning the key and the elevator descended.

* * *

It wasn't long before the elevator arrived at one of Arkham's sub-levels, and the doors opened to reveal a long, decrepit corridor; Crane stepped out and Rachel followed, perturbed.

* * *

Soon they entered a vast room, where there were long tables covered in bags of powdered, scales, aluminum barrels, and dozens of inmates working on the powder and refining it; several armed thugs looked up curious, and Crane nodded to the room while Rachel was gaping in shock.

"This is where we make the medicine," he explained as one of the inmates poured a bucket full of a whitish liquid into a large water pipe that had been cracked open. "Perhaps you should have some," he suggested while Rachel bolted out of the room. " _Clear_ your head." And he smiled, fully aware of where the young woman was heading.

* * *

Rachel fled back into the elevator and hit the button for the 2nd floor, but nothing happen, and the elevator didn't move, not even when she hit the other floor buttons, triggering an alarm…and it was clear that the elevator wouldn't move without a key; just then the door open, revealing Crane, now wearing his mask.

 _`"Boo,"`_ said Crane, stretching out his hand, and a puff of white gas shot out.

Rachel recoiled, coughing, choking, and screamed when she saw that the eyeholes of the burlap were flaming; she then shrank back as Crane reached her.

* * *

Soon Rachel, who was in the grips of an terrifying illusion, was dragged back into the room by some of the thugs, and the inmates stared blankly, clearly drugged; Crane turned her sweat-covered face to look up at his mask, making her cry out in fear.

 _`"Who knows you're here?"`_ he demanded and Rachel shook her head, trying to turn away since to her, the mask was now covered with maggots. _`"Who knows?!"`_ And she pulled away, burying her head in her arms.

Just then, the lights went out and the thugs looked around, unnerved, while Crane pulled off his mask, and smiled slightly as he smoothed his hair.

"He's here," he said softly with fascination.

"Who?" one of the thugs asked.

Crane grinned. "The _Batman_."

Now the thugs exchanged nervous glances, having heard about the incident at the docks two nights ago.

"What do we do?"

"What anyone does when a prowler comes around," said Crane, carefully watching the ceiling and noted their confused looks. "Call the police."

"You want the cops here?" a second thug asked, surprised.

"At this point, they can't stop us," said Crane confidently. "But the Batman has a _talent_ for disruption," he ordered. "Force him outside, the police with take him down." And then he indicated the inmates. "Get them out of here."

The first thug gestured to Rachel's shaking form. "What about her?"

Crane smirked. "She's gone," he declared. "I gave her a concentrated dose. The mind can only take _so much_."

"The things they say about him," said the second thug uneasily. "Can he really fly?"

"I heard he can disappear."

"We'll find out, won't we?" said Crane, backing into the shadows, smiling.

Nervously, the thugs moved to either side of the door, just as glass smashed across the room and a shadow dropped in from a high window; Rachel screamed as two thugs advanced through the darkness and one of them was grabbed, pulled up, screaming into the blackness of the rafters.

The first thug peered up into the darkness, his gun aimed when a shadow descended toward him, and he fired; he grunted when the shadow collided with him and yelped when he saw that it was his fellow thug, now dead thanks to his own gun; he rolled the body off, scrambled to his feet, and Batman struck him from behind, knocking him unconscious,

As the dark knight took out the other thugs, there was the faint sound of sirens in the distance moving closer; he turned toward Rachel when Crane burst from the shadows, his arm reaching out – Batman grabbed his arm, spun Crane around, ripping off the mask, wrenched his arm to his own face, and ripped his jacket open, revealing a bladder full of fear toxin.

"Taste of your own medicine, doctor?" Batman offered and Crane's eye went wide as he squeezed the bladder and a choking cloud of dust sprayed into his face.

Crane fell backward to the ground, choking and coughing; the dark knight grabbed him and pulled him upward. "Who are you working for?!" he demanded while looking like a death's head with black eyes and fangs to his victim.

"Ra's…Ra's…al Ghul…" Crane gasped, trapped within the illusion, his eyes wide with fear.

Batman started when he heard the name and pulled Crane closer with a snarl. "Ra's al Ghul is dead, Crane!" he growled. "Who are you _really_ working for? _Crane_!"

Crane just stared at him, his eyes glazing over, and he gave a dazed smile, no longer connected to reality. "Dr. Crane isn't here right now," he chortled, "but if you'd like to make an appointment…" and the dark knight knocked him out when the sirens got louder.

Batman tossed the crazed and unconscious doctor on the floor and turned to Rachel, who screamed and lashed out at what she thought was a towering horned, winged demon; he gently gripped her neck and she slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

Outside, the cops pulled up and surrounded the Asylum as more and more cars arrived, killing the sirens; the cops got out of their cars and got into position as one of them spoke into a bullhorn.

 _`"Batman. Put down your weapons and surrender. You are surrounded."`_

* * *

Inside the Asylum, Batman gently scooped Rachel's unconscious form into his arms, straightened up, and headed deeper into the building.

* * *

Meanwhile, as more and more police cars arrived, the cops were aiming their guns at the building as the staff emerged, blinking after being in complete darkness; they were being escorted away when Flass and Gordon arrived.

"What're you waiting for?!" Flass demanded of the nearest officer.

"Backup," said the cop.

"Back up?!" Flass repeated, gesturing to the dozen police cars that were already outside the building.

"The Batman's in there," the cop explained, and Flass's face paled slightly. "SWAT's on the way, but if you want to go in now…" he smiled. "I'm right behind you, sir."

Flass recalled his own encounter with the dark knight and turned to Gordon, shrugging. "SWAT's on the way."

Gordon ignored him, drew his, gun, and headed inside, ignoring the protests of the other cops.

* * *

Once inside, Gordon moved through the darkness, his eyes flickering to the terrified nurses who were making their way to the front door.

* * *

Back outside, SWAT began pouring out of the newly arrived vans, racing up the front steps.

* * *

Finding that the elevators weren't working, Gordon made his way up the stairs just as SWAT started entering the building; he was halfway up the spiral stairwell when Batman suddenly dropped out of nowhere, grabbed him, and they both rocketed upward.

"What-!" Gordon began, but the dark knight covered his mouth until they reached an open attic while the SWAT teams entered the main hall; when Batman released him, Gordon was immediately distracted by the sight of Rachel, who was sweating, moaning, and twitching, and he knelt next to her. "What happened to her?" he whispered.

"Crane poisoned her with a psychotropic hallucinogen," Batman explained while the cop was confused. "A panic-inducing toxin."

Gordon put his gun away. "Let me take her down to the medics," he requested, recalling Philip's theory about the chemical compound.

"They can't help her," Batman informed him. "But I can." Just then the lights were turned back on, bleaching the stairwell, and the dark knight reached down to his boot, pressed a switch in the heel, which began producing a barely audible high-frequency whine. "I need to get her the antidote before the damage becomes permanent."

"How long does she have?" Gordon asked, concerned.

"Not long."

* * *

Outside, the cops were distracted by a strange squealing sound heading toward them. Flass looked around, curious, and saw a strange dark cloud crossing the moon. _'What the hell…?'_

* * *

"Get her downstairs," Batman instructed, lifting Rachel into Gordon's arms, "meet me in the alley on the Narrows side."

"How will you get out?" Gordon asked.

"I called for backup," said the dark knight, indicating the glowing device on his boot. "Crane's been refining his toxin, stockpiling it, and he was pouring it into the water supply."

"What was he planning?" Gordon inquired. "And why put it in the water supply?"

Batman shrugged. "I don't know, but he's been working for someone else…someone worse then Falcone."

Gordon frowned, as the loud squealing noise got closer. "What _is_ that?"

"Backup."

* * *

Outside Flass screamed as he and the other cops dove for cover as thousands upon _thousands_ of bats descended onto the Asylum, heading for the windows, which shattered inwards as the bats poured into the building, scaring the living daylights out of the SWAT teams.

* * *

Gordon covered Rachel the best he could as he carried her down the steps.

* * *

The bats flooded into the bright stairwell, soaring up past the cowering SWATS, a black mass rising and darkening the stairwell; Batman calmly knelt among the cloud of bats, removed the sounder out of his heel, leaned over the stairwell, and dropped it; immediately the bats cyclone back downward, following the signal.

The dark knight leapt out into the middle of the cyclone and fell toward the floor below, hidden by the bats; he opened his cloak, which slowed his descent, and landed with barely a sound. Still using the bats as a cover, Batman moved calmly, slipping past cowering SWATS, and cell doors.

The inmates stared, wide-eyed out their windows as he passed; reaching a particular door, the dark knight pulled out a mini bomb and triggered it.

The two inmates in the cell flinched when the door lock was blasted apart and the door kicked open; they gaped when Batman strode in, used another mini bomb to blast open the window of their cell, and nodded to them before leaving. "Excuse me."

When the dark knight was gone, one inmate turned to the other. "What'd I tell ya?"

* * *

Having reached the side street, Gordon was lowering Rachel to the asphalt as she moaned, still caught in terrifying illusions.

"How is she?" Batman asked, appearing at his side.

"She's getting worse," Gordon answered as a searchlight from a chopper swept over them, and Gordon turned toward the end of the side street while the dark knight scooped the young woman into his arms. "I'll get my car."

"I brought mine."

"Yours?" Gordon asked, turning to find that they both had disappeared into the darkness and jumped when blinding headlights flared, followed by a massive engine roaring; he dove out of the way as the newly painted Batmobile came flying out of the darkness and blew past him.

Gordon gaped after it, impressed. "I _gotta_ get me one of those."

* * *

A/N: And that's it for this chapter. Watch out for bats! R&R everyone!


	10. Chapter 9: POLICE CHASE

Batman Begins: The First Mission

A/N: I'm return! So, for some reason one of the chapters I thought I posted two weeks ago wasn't posted, so that's why I did a double update last week, and I hope that won't happen again since it was annoying for me. Any how, please post reviews to let me know what you think, and try not to be mean since it does hurt my feelings when people are rude in their reviews, and also remember that the Pearson's (Philip and Julia) and Pearson Pharmaceuticals aren't in the actual movie since I created them.

Read, review, and enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from _Batman_ or from _Batman Begins;_ I only own the characters that I created.

* * *

 **CHAPTER NINE: POLICE CHASE**

Inside the Batmobile, Batman was driving and Rachel was hanging onto the harness, terrified; a cop car pulled across the alley and the dark knight hit the accelerator, making it speed forward.

* * *

The two cops in the car gaped at the Batmobile and braced themselves as the tank smashed into their car, its' huge front tires crushing the bonnet as it bounced right over in a messy display of brute force; the Batmobile then took off down the street while the two cops in the crushed car stared in shock, scrunched down in their seats.

One of them grabbed the radio and called it in, glad that the radio still worked. "He's in a vehicle!"

 _`"Make and color?"`_

"It's a black…" the cop began, exchanged a look with his partner, who shrugged, unsure of how to describe what had just ran them over "…tank."

 _`"Tank?"`_

* * *

Meanwhile, the Batmobile was weaving around traffic, dodging the freeway supports; inside, Rachel was braced against the dash, breathing fast, and was staring at the road ahead, which seemed to be moving past at an impossible speed in her mind.

"You've been poisoned," Batman told her. "Stay calm." And he checked the intricate GPS display before returning his attention to the road ahead.

* * *

The Batmobile raced over the roads, jumping lights, nimbly dodging through the cross-traffic, and soon two cop cars joined the pursuits from the cross streets, their lights blazing and sirens blaring; Batman saw them in the rear-view monitor and flipped a switch, which caused the Batmobile to drop spike strips onto the road.

The cop cars hit them, making the tires explode, and the rims sparked as they grinded and skidding sideways into each other while the Batmobile disappeared into the distance.

* * *

Further down the road, an impatient cop was on the radio. "At least tell me what it _looks_ like," he demanded and his eyes went wide when the Batmobile roared past. " _Never mind_."

* * *

Soon the Batmobile shot out from under the elevated freeway and it was hit by a spotlight from a chopper; Batman glanced at a row of buttons, each one had a tiny screen that was showing a different view, and he pushed one so that the view flickered onto the main display.

By this point, Rachel was hyperventilating.

"Breath slowly," he instructed. "Close your eyes."

Rachel did close her eyes for a moment and then snapped them back open. "That's worse!"

Batman was distracted when three cop cars pulled across the intersection in an attempt to form a roadblock and he touched the GPS screen so that the map became three-dimensional, showing the heights of buildings and levels of streets; he then had the Batmobile skid into a turn and headed through the entrance to a multi-level parking garage, taking out the ticket machine and barrier.

* * *

The Batmobile raced upward through the structure, the car's enormous width taking out pillars at every turn; inside Rachel flinched away from the pillars.

"What're you doing?!" she screamed.

"Shortcut," Batman answered shortly while the cop cars had troubles with the downed pillars, which were hindering the chase.

* * *

It wasn't long before the Batmobile roared out onto the top level and was lit up again by the chopper as it reversed into a spot marked "compact", crushing the cars on either side, and then raced forward just as the cop cars emerged onto the roof, blocking the only way down, and it screeched to a halt.

Trapped.

* * *

Inside, Batman examined his 3D GPS, considered his options, and then glanced at Rachel, who recoiled, terrified by his mask, and began clawing at her harness to escape.

 _`"Turn_ off _your engine!"`_ one of the cops outside ordered over a megaphone.

Ignoring the cops, the dark knight gently put a gloved hand on Rachel's arm. "Trust me," he instructed before activating a command that slid him into the front driving position, his body prone as if riding a motorcycle with his head in a glass pod that was located between the front wheels.

Once Batman was in position, he hit a button.

* * *

The cops gaped as cannons emerged from the nose of the Batmobile, and duck as they blasted the far wall; the massive jet engine at the back ignited as flaps on the front and rear of the car flared out like a python spreading its neck, and then it rocketed forward for the gap in the far wall accelerating.

* * *

Inside, Rachel screamed as Batman hit another button and an inverted spoiler jammed into the airstream the front, sending it into a rampless jump, and the Batmobile soared over a thirty-foot gap to land heavily on a neighboring flat roof; back at the parking garage, the cops stared at each other, open-mouthed.

How were they going to explain _this_ to their superiors?

* * *

Meanwhile, Batman yanked the steering left, hit the booster, rocketed for the edge of roof, and shot over the gap to the next roof, with the chopper in pursuit once again; the dark knight check his 3D GPS, rocketed forward, aiming at the next roof, which was a pitched chateau-style tile roof.

* * *

Down below on the streets, the cop cars were zooming along, paralleling the rooftop chase while the chopper swoop low over the buildings, and the cops below caught a glimpse of the Batmobile as it leapt across to the next building.

 _`"We're on him, we're on him…"`_

* * *

The Batmobile landed on the pitched roof, raced along it at a precarious angle, tiles sliding off the roof in its wake; inside, Batman's forward-slung position was gyroscopically balanced so that he was the only vertical element in the angled car, and he was still being caused by the low-flying chopper.

He swerved the car up and over the gables, the roof crumbling in its wake, and was racing for the end of the roof, which was parallel with an elevated freeway; hitting the booster once again, the Batmobile rocketed forward, jumped the last gable, and dropped onto the freeway, forcing traffic to serve to avoid it.

* * *

Below on the streets, the cops all cursed when they saw the Batmobile disappear on the freeway above.

"Dammit!"

* * *

Batman watched the display, which showed a radar sweep that was plotting a course through the different speeds of the lanes, and he leaned left and right like a motorcyclist while the chopper above kept a light trained on him; around him the traffic was getting heavier and there was several cop cars closing in from behind.

The dark knight lifted himself back into the rear driving position, throttled back, and then killed all the lights and the engine.

* * *

The chopper pilot cursed when, to him, the Batmobile disappeared into the shadows like a wraith.

"I lost him."

* * *

There was silence inside the car, save for the steady whine of the electric motor; Rachel, who'd been dozing, started at the sudden quiet, her eyes flickering as Batman sliced across the lanes like a shadow that was only visible when it broke the glare of other cars' headlights, and ahead of them, the cop cars pulled forward until they were driving parallel with an empty lane between them.

Rachel stared at the dark knight in the intimate quiet with wide eyes, and she was breathing shallowly.

"Quiet," Batman whispered. "Stay with me."

* * *

Meanwhile, the cops were searching for the Batmobile with growing frustration of losing a car that was the size of a tank so easily.

"Where'd he-?" a cop began, looking left he saw between his car and the next cop car, a black shape. "There he is!"

* * *

When the spotlight hit the car, Batman immediately hit a button and the main engine roared to life as he slipped back into the prone position, and hit the booster once again.

* * *

The cops were startled when the Batmobile's lights suddenly turned back on and it shot forward from between them, the jet wash blasted their windscreens, shattering them, and the nearest cop car spun out of its lane and slammed into the guard rail; the black car raced ahead, once again weaving through traffic.

The Batmobile slid onto a tightly curving exit ramp, flew off it, and jumped down onto the frontage road below.

* * *

Once again, Batman killed the lights, now running on night vision, and Rachel's eyes were flickering at the eerie green view of ghostly trees as her shallow breathing got faster.

"Hold on," the dark knight requested, concerned. "Just hold on." And he yanked a lever that released an ground anchor that dug into the road, whipping the Batmobile right in a hard turn, down a small turnoff, and the chopper lost it once again and so did the cop cars that blazed past the turnoff.

* * *

Inside the Batmobile, Rachel was crying as the trees that were flashing past and were turning monstrous in her drugged mind.

"Rachel?" Batman asked and glanced at her when she didn't answer. "Rachel?!" he yelled when he saw that she was blacking out again, and he return his attention to the road and a lookout, which was located over a river gorge; he pushed the Batmobile so that it was speeding toward the lookout.

Rachel's glazed eyes registered the danger and she began twisting in her seat, panicking.

The Batmobile rocketed off the edge of the lookout, over the gorge, and flew straight at the face of a waterfall.

Rachel screamed as they splashed into the face of waterfall – and emerged through the curtain of water and into the batcave; the Batmobile's ground anchors hooked a steel cable, which caused an inertia reel that was bolted the cave wall to start spinning, and it yanked the car to a halt like a jet landing on an aircraft carrier.

Rachel bounced in her seat and then passed out, much to Batman's alarm.

"Rachel!" he yelped as the canopy hissed open in three complex sections, like insect wings imploding; the dark knight lifted her from the cockpit, stepped down onto the wet shale, and carried her into the damp blackness of the caverns.

Cloak billowing in his wake, Batman headed for the glow of his worktable, gently lay Rachel on it, and then racked up the scaffold to his computer station; there was a container waiting for him, along with paperwork from Lucius, and he opened it, finding three vials inside.

He removed one, plugged it into a pneumatic syringe, put the syringe between his teeth, glided off the scaffold, and landed next to the table; removing the syringe form his mouth, he injected it into Rachel's bicep, and then stepped back and watched as her breathing began to slow.

The antidote was working.

* * *

A/N: Talk about your wild ride! R&R everyone!


	11. Chapter 10: THE PAST RETURNS

Batman Begins: The First Mission

A/N: Oohh, I've been having a long week and it isn't even Friday yet. _ Anyhoo, I'm here to post the newest chapter for you all to enjoy.

Read, review, and enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from _Batman_ or from _Batman Begins;_ I only own the characters that I created.

* * *

 **CHAPTER TEN: THE PAST RETURNS**

Meanwhile at Arkham Asylum and down in the refectory, Gordon was supervising the scene: cops and SWAT were digging through the mess, interviewing inmates, and were sifting through the rubble; a detective was sitting in a cell doorway, examining Crane's mask, and Crane was huddled in the corner, staring blankly into space.

"Is he cooperating?" Gordon asked.

The detective shrugged. "If by cooperating you mean chewing his way through three sets of restraints, then yes, he's cooperating," he responded. "Did we catch the Batman?"

Gordon shook his head, repressing a smile. "Nope."

Just then a cop hurried over.

"Sir, there's something you should take a look at…"

The cop led him over to where a large hole had been broken in the floor and there was a cracked pipe open within, and they could see the water rushing through; there were also dozens of aluminum barrels sitting alongside the hole.

Gordon climbed down and peered into the hole, watching as the water rushed by. "Looks like they tapped the mains," he muttered and then looked at the barrels; realization sunk in as he recalled what the Batman had told him earlier. "Get me somebody at the water board!" he ordered.

Gordon climbed back out, just as a second cop ran up. "Yes?"

"Sir, Philip Pearson just arrived."

* * *

Gordon stepped outside just as Philip pulled up in his car and got out.

"Mr. Pearson," said the sergeant, both surprised and relieved to see the older man. "What're you doing here?"

"Rachel Dawes requested that I come here to do blood work on Falcone, Gordon," Philip responded. "What's going on?"

"Come with me and I'll explain on the way," said Gordon and led him into the building.

* * *

"So, Crane was dumping this toxin into the water supply?" Philip asked as he and Gordon entered the room and walked over to the hole, where a technician from the water board was testing the water.

"That's what the Batman told me," Gordon confirmed. "I'm having the water tested to be sure."

Philip frowned. "If this _is_ the same chemical that I found in the drugs form the docks, then we could have a serious problem on our hands."

They joined the technician, who was checking the results on his device. "According to this, the entire water supply is contaminated."

"How much did they pour in?" Gordon asked.

"All of it," the technician responded. "They must've been pouring it in for weeks, and it'll have spread through the whole system by now."

While Gordon continued questioning the technician, Philip went to one of the tables, which had some of the white powder on it; taking a device from his black bag, he carefully used a spoon to scoop some of the powder into the device and did a scan when Gordon walked up.

"According to the technician, the only reason no one has shown any effects is because it needs to be breathed in instead of drinking it," he reported. "What're you doin'?"

"Testing the powder," Philip responded and frowned at the results. "He's right though. Whatever sort of hallucinogenic agent that we're dealing with, it's been weaponized and it isn't one that I recognize."

"Maybe Crane knows," Gordon suggested. "Of course, you should know that he's been affected by his own toxin thanks to the Batman earlier when he rescued Rachel," he added as he led the way to the cell. "So, I'm not sure if you'll get a straight answer out of him."

Philip chuckled. "Don't worry, even if he doesn't make any sense, I can craw some blood from him, plus Falcone, and get it back to my lab to start looking for a possible antidote should someone does try to get this stuff into the air."

"Sounds good to me."

* * *

When Rachel regain consciousness, she found herself lying on a table inside a dark cave, and her eyes went wide when she saw that there were bats fluttering about and were hanging on the ceiling high above her. "Oh. My. God."

"How do you feel?" Batman asked from the shadows, watching her.

"Where are we?" Rachel asked, her voice hoarse and looked around for the dark knight, but she couldn't see him. "Why did you bring me here?"

"If I hadn't," Batman said slowly, "your mind would now be lost. You were poisoned."

Rachel tried to recall what had happen at Arkham. "I remember…nightmares," she muttered. "This face, this… _mask_." She then remembered. "Crane. It was Crane-" and she tried to sit up. "I have to tell the police – we've got-"

Batman stepped out of the shadows and stopped her. "Rest," he ordered. "Gordon has Crane."

Rachel stared up at the dark knight as he gently laid her back onto the table before retreating back into the shadows. "Is Sergeant Gordon your friend?" she asked.

"I don't have the luxury of friends," Batman softly growled.

Rachel lifted her head slightly, trying to find him in the shadows. "Why did you save my life?" she inquired.

"I serve _justice_ ," Batman responded, still hiding in the shadows.

"Perhaps you do," Rachel agreed, feeling pity for the dark knight.

Batman stepped into the light, holding a pneumatic syringe and two vials, and she watched him warily. "I'm going to give you a sedative," he told her. "You'll wake up back at home…" he held up the two vials "and when you do, get these to Gordon and Philip Pearson, and them alone. Trust no one."

"What are they?" Rachel asked, eying the vials.

"The antidote," Batman answered. "One for Gordon to inoculate himself, the other to start mass-production." And he handed her the vials.

"Mass production?" Rachel repeated, confused.

"Crane was just a pawn," Batman informed her. "We need to be ready." He then held up the syringe and she offered her arm; the dark knight injected her and Rachel's eyes closed; once she was sedated, Bruce removed his cowl and stared at her for an inexpressibly lonely moment. _'I wish I could tell you the truth, but it isn't the right time…yet.'_

* * *

A short while later, Bruce emerged form the bookcase and the noise of a party could be heard through the door; Alfred was there waiting, a dinner jacket over his arm, and was frowning while the young man finished buttoning his shirt and tied on his bowtie.

"When you told me your grand plan to save Gotham, one thing stopped me calling the men in white coast," Alfred said darkly. "You said it wasn't about thrill-seeking."

"It's not," Bruce responded.

Alfred pointed to a nearby TV, which was on a news channel and it was showing the chase footage from earlier. "Well, what do you call that?"

Bruce glanced at the news and smirked. "Damn good television."

"It's a miracle no one was injured," the butler objected.

"I didn't have time to observe the highway code, Alfred," the young man countered.

Alfred shook his head. "You're getting lost in this creature of yours."

I'm using this creature to help people like my father did-" Bruce began.

"For Thomas Wayne, helping others was never about proving anything to anyone," the older man interrupted. "Including himself."

Bruce sighed. "It's Rachel, Alfred," he explained. "She was dying." And Alfred gasped. "She's downstairs, sedated. I need you to take her home."

Alfred nodded and started for the bookcase; he paused and turned back. "We both care about Rachel, sir," he said gently. "But what you're doing has to be beyond that. It _can't_ be personal. Or you're a vigilante."

Bruce understood this, having been told the same thing during his training with the League of Shadows and then glanced at the door. "Is Fox still here?" and got a confirming nod. "We need to send these people away."

"Those are Bruce Wayne's guest out there," Alfred protested. "You have a name to maintain-"

"I don't _care_ about my name," Bruce interrupted, heading out the door.

Alfred called out after him, refusing to let this one go. "It's not just your name, it's your father's. And it's all that's left of him. _Don't_ destroy it." And then headed for the batcave while Bruce paused to consider this before heading for the hall.

* * *

Soon Bruce entered the main hall, where hundreds of guests were gathered; music was playing and the tables were groaning under the weight of the food.

"There he is!" one of the female guest exclaimed upon seeing him, getting the attention of the other guests, and the band began playing "Happy Birthday".

Bruce smiled sheepishly as the guests began singing along, accepted a glass from one of the servers, and moved among the throng, spotting Lucius, who was at the buffet.

"Happy birthday, Bruce," said Earle, getting his attention.

"Mr. Earle, how did the stock offering go?" Bruce asked, recalling Earle's intention to take the company public. _'Won't he be surprised tomorrow?'_

"Very well – the price soared," Earle responded.

Bruce nodded. "Who was buying?"

"A variety of funds and brokerages…it's all a bit technical," Earle responded. "The key thing is, our company's future is secure."

* * *

Meanwhile, Alfred snuck the sleeping Rachel out the side entrance and gently arranged her on the rear seat of the car; he frowned when he realized that her legs were stuck, and as he tried to get them in, he looked up to see a party guest, who had stepped out for a smoke, and was watching him, curiously.

"A little the worse for wear," Alfred lied with a embarrassed smile, "I'm afraid." And the party guest nodded, believing the lie and went back to his smoke; Alfred fought back a sigh, yanked Bruce's gold clubs to one side, and got the young woman settled. _'I am going to ask for a raise after this.'_

* * *

After the cutting of the cake, Bruce worked the room with a charming smile, but he was also heading toward Lucius at the same time; he finally reached the older man after exchanging a few kind words with Julia Pearson, who apologized for Philip not being there since he was needed to help the police with something important in the Narrows.

"Thank you for that… _item_ ," Bruce told the older man.

"I'm sure you'll find a use for it," Lucius responded with a nod.

"I already have," the young man assured him, thinking of what was going to happen in the future. "How long would it take to manufacture on a large scale?"

The older man thought for a moment "Weeks. Why?"

"Someone's been planning to disperse it using the water supply," Bruce answered, recalling what he'd seen in the sub-basement.

"The water supply isn't going to help you disperse an inhalant…unless…" and Lucius trailed off, worried. _'Oh god.'_

Bruce noticed this. "What?"

"Unless you have access to a microwave emitter powerful enough to vaporize the water in the mains," the older man explained. "The kind of microwave emitter that Wayne Enterprises has recently misplaced."

"Misplaced?" the young man echoed.

Lucius nodded. "Earle just fired me for asking too many questions about it."

' _Just when this night couldn't get any worse.'_ "I need you to go back to Wayne Enterprises and start making more of the antidote," Bruce ordered. "And get a copy of your notes over to Pearson Pharmaceuticals so that they can start mass production."

"My security access has been revoked," Lucius pointed out.

"That wouldn't stop a man like you, would it?" Bruce inquired, smirking.

The older man smiled. "No, it probably wouldn't." and he headed out.

* * *

Meanwhile at Arkham Asylum, Gordon, who had left Philip with Crane, discovered a large crate and had two cops open it, now they were staring at the microwave emitter.

"What the _hell_ is it?" one cop wondered.

"I don't know," Gordon responded, "but _nobody_ gets near it, understand? We're closing the bridges, locking down the whole island." And he headed back to the cell to ask Crane some more questions.

* * *

"Crane, I know that you were weaponizing a hallucinogenic chemical compound," Philip told the mumbling young man, having drawn several small tubes of blood, and was now seated across from him. "And that you were putting it into the water supply. What I want to know is what kind of compound were you weaponizing and _why_?"

"Scarecrow…" Crane mumbled, his eyes glazed. "Scarecrow…scarecrow…"

Gordon entered the cell and nodded at the young man. "You get anything out of him, Mr. Pearson?" he asked. "Beside blood?"

Philip shook his head. "No, and I thought I saw it all in the terms of mental trouble back in Vietnam," he admitted. "All he mutters is the word "scarecrow" over and over again, just like Falcone." He held up the mask. "And I bet it has to do with his mask."

Gordon nodded and spoke to Crane. "Crane, who are you working for?" he asked. "Why are you doing this?"

This time Crane actually answered and locked eyes with them. "It doesn't matter," he told them with a vague smile. "It's…too late."

The two men exchanged grim looks, not liking the sound of that, and they both left the cell, giving the mask to the cop standing guard.

* * *

"I need to get this blood back to my lab," Philip told Gordon when they were back near the hole. "And I need to see if I can find a antidote for this toxin," he added, spotting the microwave emitter. "Where'd _that_ come from?"

Gordon glanced at the device. "Do you know what that is?"

Philip nodded, frowning. "Yes, it's a microwave emitter built by Wayne Enterprises… one of the many defense projects that Earle has going with the government," he explained. "From what I know, it's suppose to be able to vaporize an enemy's water supply – or put a biological agent into the air," he realized.

Gordon swallowed. "I think we're going to need that antidote if this stuff does get into the air, and you should leave right away since I'm going to have the bridges closed to lock down the whole island."

"I'll leave right away."

* * *

Meanwhile at Wayne Manor, Bruce moved through the party and was heading for the study when an elderly woman, Mrs. Delane, suddenly grabbed his arm and pulled him in a different direction.

"Bruce, there's somebody here you _simply_ must meet…"

"Not just now, Mrs. Delane-" Bruce began.

Mrs. Delane turned him to face an Asian man in his fifties. "Now, am I pronouncing it right?" she asked while Bruce noticed that in the Asian man's buttonhole was a familiar-looking double-bloomed blue poppy. "Mr. _Ra's al Ghul?_ " and the Asian man nodded.

"You're not Ra's al Ghul," said Bruce, his blood running cold while Mrs. Delane laughed nervously with confusion on her face. "I watched him die."

"But is Ra's al Ghul _immortal_?" a familiar voice asked and the young man turned to find Henri Ducard standing behind him with a smile and a black cane in one hand. "Are his methods _supernatural_?"

"Or cheap parlor tricks to conceal your true identity…" Bruce suggested as a new understanding dawned on his face " _Ra's?_ "

Ra's nodded. "Surely a man who spends his nights scrambling over the rooftops of Gotham wouldn't begrudge me dual identities?" he inquired as he walked with the young man through the party.

"I saved you from the fire," Bruce said, disgusted with himself now.

Ra's smiled "I warned you about compassion, Bruce."

As they walked, Bruce noticed certain guests were staring intensely at him and it wasn't hard to guess that they were all members of the League of Shadows. "Your quarrel is with me," he hissed at his former mentor. "Let these people go."

"You're welcome to explain the situation to them," Ra's offered, amused.

' _No one will believe me if I tell them the truth,'_ Bruce thought and got another idea as he grabbed a glass from a tray and tapped on it. "Everyone! Everyone!" and soon those gathered turned their attention to him; the young man raised his glass unsteadily. "I just want to thank you all for… _drinking_ my booze." And they all laughed. "No, really, the thing about being a Wayne is you're never short of a few freeloaders to fill up your mansion…" and this stopped the laughter really quick. "So here's to you people." And he downed his drink.

Many of the people looked away embarrassed while Fredericks took the young man by the elbow while Julia took away the nearly empty glass. "That's enough, Bruce."

Bruce pulled his arm away as people started heading for the doors, and got himself a new glass, despite Julia's attempt to stop him. "I'm not finished," he said, raising the new glass. "To you false friends…and pathetic suck-ups who smile through your teeth at me…you had your fill, now leave me in peace! Get out. Everybody. Out!"

Ra's watched this all with amusement as the people left, some of them whispering their disapproval while others were more vocal; knowing that he would probably regret this later in tomorrow news, he turned to Fredericks and Julia, who were staring at him with both disappointment and disapproval.

"The apple has fallen _very_ far from the tree, Mr. Wayne," the older man said coldly before walking away.

"If your father was still alive, young man," Julia said icily. "He would disown you on the spot." And she also left.

Ra's chuckled as the last of the angry guests left. "Amusing," he commented. "But pointless. None of these people have long to live – your antics at the Asylum have forced my hand."

"Crane was working for you," Bruce guessed.

"His toxin is derived from the organic compound in our blue poppies," Ra's explained. "He was able to weaponize it."

Now Bruce was confused. "He's not a member of the League of Shadows."

Soon, the only people left in the room with Ra's and Bruce were Ra's men, and they were scattered around the room.

"Of course not," Ra's confirmed. "He thought our plan was to hold the city to ransom."

"But really you're going to unleash Crane's poison on the entire city," the young man concluded.

Ra's nodded. "Then watch Gotham tear itself apart through fear."

"You're going to destroy millions of lives," Bruce protested.

Ra's scoffed. "Only a cynical man would call what these people have 'lives', Wayne." And he stepped out of the main hall and into a corridor, and his former student followed. "People stacked like boxes. Families sleeping in garbage. Crime. Despair. This is not how man was supposed to live." He then paused next to a window and gestured to the distant glow of Gotham. "The League of Shadows have been a check against human corruption for thousands of years. We sacked Rome. Loaded trade ships with plague rats. Burned London to the ground. Every time a civilization reaches the pinnacle of its decadence, we return to restore the balance."

"Gotham isn't beyond saving," Bruce protested, thinking of all the good decent people he knew personally. "There are good people here, people who-"

"You're defending a city so corrupt we infiltrated every level of its infrastructure," Ra's interrupted, and this was a newsflash for the young man.

* * *

At Arkham Asylum, a man in a SWAT uniform entered the cell that Crane was in, and dropped the burlap mask in his lap; the former doctor blinked and looked up at the SWAT officer and his partner, who was standing in the doorway of the cell.

"Time to play."

* * *

In the control room, the guard on duty looked around when the SWATs entered, grabbed and killed him, and then pushed the button that unlocked all of the cells; on the screens they watched as a rogue's gallery of criminal lunatics, including Zsaz, cautiously left their cells and entered the hallways.

* * *

On the monorail, the driver checked his watch and hit the intercom.

 _`"This train is no longer in service."`_

The passengers groaned and got to their feet, not looking forward to the long walk ahead of them.

* * *

Back at Wayne Manor, Ra's and Bruce were facing each other in the corridor of the manor.

"You have no illusions about the world, Bruce," Ra's reminded him. "When I found you in that jail you were lost. But I believed in you. I took away your fear, and showed you a path." He sighed, disappointed. "You were my greatest student…it should be _you_ standing at my side, saving the world."

"I'll be standing right where I am now," Bruce said firmly, "between you and the people of Gotham."

Ra's glowered. "No one can save Gotham," he stated. "When a forest grows too wild, a purging fire is inevitable, and natural." And nodded to his men, who began knocking over the bookshelves in the area, pouring gasoline over everything, and started setting fires. "Tomorrow the world will watch in horror as its greatest city destroys itself," he continued as the flames rose around them, the smoke gathering at the ceiling. "The movement back to harmony will be unstoppable this time."

"You've tried to attack Gotham before?" Bruce asked, surprised.

"Of course," Ra's replied as if it was obvious. "Over the ages our weapons have grown more sophisticated…with Gotham we tried a new one…economics."

The young man stared at him, puzzle pieces falling into place and he didn't like the picture forming. "You created the depression twenty years ago."

Ra's nodded. "Create enough hunger, and everyone becomes a criminal. But we underestimated _certain_ of Gotham's citizens…such as your parents." And this earned him a glare that didn't faze him in the slightest. "Unfortunate casualties of the fight for justice," he added with a grim smile. "Gunned down by one of the very people they were trying to help. Their deaths galvanized the city into saving itself, and Gotham has limped on ever since. We're back to finish the job."

* * *

Meanwhile, the inmates were heading toward the exercise yard of the asylum, where the two SWATs set charges on the back wall and hurried away.

* * *

Inside, Gordon was searching the hydrotherapy room, having just learn the officers guarding the emitter had been killed and said item was now missing, and jumped when an explosion suddenly echoed through the area; racing through the corridors, he soon reached the exercise yard along with another detective, and found Flass examining a massive hole in the wall.

Through the hole, they could see the Narrows, and it was obvious of where the inmates had disappeared.

"How many were in maximum security?" Gordon questioned, as they got ready to head out.

"Dozens…serial killers, rapists, assorted sociopaths," Flass answered.

"Get 'em to raise the bridges, we don't want any getting off the island," Gordon ordered.

Flass snorted. "Sure, I'll raise the bridges," he said sarcastically. "As soon as we get every available unit over here to help us find the _homicidal maniacs_ running loose out there."

Gordon rolled his eyes as they headed out into the Narrows to begin the search.

* * *

Back at the manor, Bruce and Ra's were still having a showdown.

"And this time," Ra's said firmly, "no misguided idealists will be allowed to stand in the way. Like your father, you lack the courage to do all that is necessary. If someone stands in the way of true justice, you simply walk up behind him and stab him in the heart."

At that moment, a shadow dropped down behind Bruce, and choked when the young man suddenly spun around and grabbed the ninja by the throat while Ra's drew a sword from his cane, and began to strike, only to have Bruce spin again, blocking the blow with his side, getting cut in the process.

"Perhaps you taught me too well," Bruce hissed, fighting against the pain while dropping the unconscious ninja to the floor while retaining his grip on the sword.

"Or perhaps you'll never learn," Ra's commented, slamming his cane against a column, and soon there was a loud cracking sound high above them; Bruce looked up, just as a burning ceiling beam came crashing down onto the young man, knocking him out in the process. "To mind your surroundings as well as your opponent," he concluded.

He then retrieved his sword and put it back in his cane. "Justice is balance," he said coldly. "You burned down my house and left me for dead. Consider us even."

* * *

Ra's walked out of the burning manor and motioned to a waiting ninja. "No one comes out," he ordered. "Make sure." And he walked toward a waiting SWAT van; he climbed inside, and it drove away.

* * *

In her apartment, Rachel woke up on her bed and lay there for several seconds, trying to remember how she ended up there; she then saw the two vials of antidote sitting on her bedside table and quickly sat up, remembering.

"Gordon and Pearson."

She grabbed them and ran from her bedroom.

* * *

At Pearson Pharmaceuticals, Philip was in one of the labs and was peering through a microscope at a sample card, frowning at what he was seeing. "Dammit…nothing." He looked up when one of his assistants entered. "Yes?"

"There's a Rachel Dawes here to see you," the assistant informed him. "She says that she has something that can help with finding a cure to the toxin in the water supply."

Philip stood upon hearing this. "Send her in." and greeted the young woman. "Rachel, good to see that you're well again. Gordon told me about what Crane did to you."

Rachel nodded. "Yes, much better," she confirmed and handed him the vial. "Here, the Batman used it on me and wants it into mass production as soon as possible."

Philip accepted the vial and held it up to the light. "Thanks," he said, and was surprised when she headed to the door. "Where are you going?"

"I need to see Gordon as soon as possible," she responded.

Philip watched her go and then turned to his assistant, handing her the vial. "Get this to the other labs and have them start mass producing it right away. I want this in production _yesterday_."

* * *

Meanwhile, the fire was quickly working its way through Wayne Manor and Bruce was still lying on the floor, pinned by the burning timber, and was still unconscious.

* * *

The ninja that Ra's al Ghul left behind, was standing guard at the side door, and was staring into the flames to make sure that the sole surviving member of the Wayne family didn't get out.

 _WHACK!_

The ninja dropped like a ton of bricks, revealing Alfred, who was standing over the unconscious man, armed with a nine iron.

"I sincerely hope you're not from the fire department," he muttered before running into the burning house; it didn't take him very long to find Bruce, and he immediately dropped the golf club as he tried to shift the burning wood from his young charge's chest.

Breathing hard and coughing because of the heat and smoke, Alfred reached across the timber and slapped the young man's face _hard_. "Master Wayne! Master Wayne!"

With a groan, Bruce's eyes flickered open, spotted Alfred, and then tried to move the beam without much luck.

"Sir," said Alfred in an exasperated manner. "Whatever is the point of all those push-ups if you can even move a bloody log!"

Bruce glared at the older man and then forced the weight from his chest.

* * *

Staggering through the smoke and flames, Alfred supported Bruce into the study, which was also burning, stabbed at the correct piano keys so that the bookcase swung open, and then hauled the young man into the lift while the house began collapsing around them; Alfred yanked the lever and they dropped just as smoke and flame exploded through the passage.

* * *

With a resounding crash, the lift landed hard inside the batcave, and Bruce stared back up shaft with a devastated expression as the sounds of the manor crumbling continued in the distance, and tears began running down his face.

"What have I done, Alfred?" he whispered as the older man began checking his legs for injuries. "Everything my family…everything my father built…"

Alfred winced when he found a gash in Bruce's side, having lifted the tux to find blood on the shirt beneath it. "The Wayne legacy is more then bricks and mortar, sir," he said hoarsely.

Bruce kept staring up at the flames high above, lost in despair. "I thought I could…" he whispered "…help Gotham…but I've failed."

Alfred shook his head. "And why do we fall, sir?" he asked, and the young man looked at his bruised, smudged, and yet dignified face. "So that we might better learn to pick ourselves up."

Bruce weakly smiled at his old friend. "Still haven't given up on me?"

Alfred beamed. " _Never_." He held out his hand, Bruce took it, and they both stood up.

They had work to do and a city to save.

* * *

A/N: And that's it for this chapter: next week you'll see whether the Dark Knight will stop Ra's or not. R&R everyone!


	12. Chapter 11: SPREADING FEAR

Batman Begins: The First Mission

A/N: Normally I would be posting this tomorrow, but I don't think I'll have the time to, so I'm posting it tonight instead.

Read, review, and enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from _Batman_ or from _Batman Begins;_ I only own the characters that I created.

* * *

 **CHAPTER ELEVEN: SPREADING FEAR**

Meanwhile near the island that the Narrows were on, the cops were getting ready to raise the bridges once the last of the units were across, and one police officer stopped Rachel when he saw her.

"Look, lady, we're about to raise the bridges – you won't have time to get back over-"

"Officer, I'm a Gotham City District Attorney with information relevant to this situation," Rachel interrupted, "so let me pass." And she brushed past him, and he watched her go, shaking his head.

* * *

Out on the streets, the cops were busy trying to get all of the inmates back to Arkham and Gordon ended up yelling at Flass, who was threatening a citizen with his gun, to get back to work when he saw Rachel heading toward him.

"What're you doing here?" he asked, surprised and relieved to see her standing.

"Our mutual friend sent me with these," Rachel told him, handing him the remaining vial and a syringe, "it counteracts Crane's toxin. Hopefully you won't need it."

Gordon took the items, frowned, and looked around at the volatile slum. "Not unless he's got some way of getting the crap into the air," he stated. "Thanks. Now, _please_ , get off the island before they raise the bridges." He then gestured to a cop, who lead Rachel away.

* * *

Meanwhile, a cop was moving toward the bridge control booth to let them know it was time to raise the bridge, when a SWAT truck pulled up; the police officer turned, looked at them, and then waved them on. "All right, last one across!"

And soon all of the bridges leading to the island began to rise.

* * *

In the batcave, Bruce, with some help from Alfred, worked on getting his batsuit on and the Batmobile ready for the fight to come, and it wasn't long before he was seated in his car and shot out of the waterfall, heading for the Narrows.

* * *

In a different part of the Narrows, the driver drove the train until he reached the slum and stopped, glancing downward to make sure he was in the right place; meanwhile, Ra's al Ghul supervised the placing of the emitter so that it was beneath the train while his men stood guard in their SWAT grab.

* * *

Rachel, having lost sight of the cop after it was discovered that the bridges were already up, entered the area just as a little boy, the same one that Batman had meet two nights ago, approached the men for help.

"I can't find my mom," he said and was immediately shoved away by the nearest SWAT member.

"Hey!" Rachel shouted, rushing over to help the kid up. "What the hell are you doing?!" she demanding, placing herself between the boy and the SWAT man, who pointed at her warningly.

"Gentlemen," Ra's said and the men turned to reveal that he was standing next to the microwave emitter. "Time to spread the word…and the word is…" he placed his hand on the switch "panic." He pushed the button and a wave of energy pulsed out of the machine.

Rachel yelped and protected the boy the best she could as the surrounding manhole covers burst into the air, the fire hydrants exploded, and pipes ripped apart, releasing the toxin in gas form into the air.

* * *

Gordon and Flass both jumped when the manhole covers and fire hydrants everywhere exploded, releasing geysers of steam all over the Narrows, making everyone either dive for cover or running for their lives as a cloud of fog began rising from the island, blanketing the entire area.

* * *

Over at the control room for the Water Board, an alarmed sounded and one of the technicians pointed at a flashing red dot on the computerized map.

"Jesus! The pressure…it's spiking…right there."

"That's the water main under the Narrows," a second technician said with a confused expression, "something's vaporizing the water."

"How?" the first technician asked.

The second technician shrugged. "The temperature's going through the roof!"

* * *

As the screams began and Rachel backed away with the terrified boy, Ra's al Ghul coldly smiled and slipped a gas mask over his nose and mouth while the ninjas, wearing gas masks, too, placed the emitter into a hoist connected to the underside of the monorail train.

* * *

Philip was in his office, arguing over the phone with Loeb about sending the first batch of the antidote into the Narrows when he happen to glance out his office window and gasped, spotting the rising cloud of fog. "Oh God, the toxin is in the air!"

* * *

On the other side of the bridges, the cops stared at the cloud of fog that was rising from the island.

What the _hell_ was going on over there?!

* * *

Meanwhile, Gordon reached into his pocket while coughing and choking on the fog and pulled out the syringe with the vial already in place, and injected himself in his leg; able to stand again, he was distracted by the shapes of other cops choking on the fog, shouting, and fighting. He then saw Flass aiming his gun at a couple of teenage boys, and it was obvious to them that he was going to shoot them. Gordon immediately went up behind his partner, and then hit him in the back of the head with his gun.

He then dragged Flass over to the railing and handcuffed him to it. "That should keep you out of trouble." He then looked around, wondering what he was going to do now?

* * *

On the other of the bridges, Loeb and a lieutenant got out of a car at the blockade and scared across the water at the fog that was hanging over the island.

"What in God's name is going on in there?"

* * *

Back at the Narrows, it was pure chaos as more and more people succumbed to the fear toxin, Gordon was shouting into his radio that he needed backup and Loeb was telling him that there was no one left to send; while this was going on, Rachel was trying to help a little boy, who had been out looking for his mom when the toxin had been unleashed.

"It's ok," she told him, holding the boy close, "it's okay. No one is going to hurt you."

 _`"Of course they are,"`_ an eerily familiar voice called out from the toxic fog.

Rachel looked as a horse, dragging a dead cop behind it, emerged from the fog with Crane riding it, his mask over his head. "Crane!"

 _`"No."`_ Crane shook his head. _`"Scarecrow,"`_ he hissed and chased after them as they ran for it, laughing like a crazed manic, which he was.

* * *

Rachel ran with the boy in her arms until she reached a dead end; sitting the boy down and pushing him behind, she pulled out her tazer and turned to face Crane as he rode toward them.

 _`"Let me help you,"`_ he cooed as the horse reared up, its hooves pawing the air.

"Try shock therapy," Rachel snarled and fired her tazer at the mad man, catching him right between the eyes; Crane screamed and his back arched as the electrical charge surged through him, he then slumped over unconscious in the saddle, and the horse turned and ran off back into the fog.

* * *

In the Narrows, Gordon grabbed his radio and spoke into it. "We need reinforcement – Tac teams, SWATs, riot cops – get 'em in masks and-!"

 _`"Gordon!"`_ Loeb shouted over the radio. _`"All the city's riot police are on the island with you!"`_

Gordon repressed a groan. "Well, they're completely incapacitated-"

* * *

Back in Gotham, Loeb was explaining that he didn't have anyone else to send across the bridges to help when suddenly the Batmobile zoomed and launched itself over onto the other island, startling Loeb and the other cops.

* * *

"So I'm on my own-?" Gordon questioned and jumped when the Batmobile landed behind him; he turned just in time to see the Batman climb out. "Nice landing," he commented and then gave the dark knight an update. "Rachel's in there…the Narrows is tearing itself to pieces."

"This is just the beginning," Batman informed him. "They intend to destroy the entire city."

Gordon grimaced. "They've incapacitated all of the riot police here on the island."

Batman could hear the screams and knew that the cop was right. "If they hit the whole city with the toxin, there's no one to stop Gotham tearing itself a part in mass panic."

"How could they do that?" Gordon wondered. "There's no way to get the machine off the island. Except-" he broke off, realization dawning on him.

"They'll be using the train," the dark knight concluded.

Gordon frowned. "How do you know?"

"The monorail follows the water mains right into the central hub beneath Wayne Tower," Batman explained. "If they drive their machine into Wayne Station, it'll cause a chain reaction that'll vaporize the entire city's water supply…"

"Covering Gotham with a fog of fear toxin," Gordon finished.

Batman nodded and glanced up at the monorail tracks that were directly overhead. "I'm going to stop them loading that train."

"And if you can't?" Gordon questioned.

The dark knight already had a backup plan in case he did fail, and held up a black remote. "Can you drive stick?"

* * *

In a different part of the Narrows, Rachel and the little boy were hugging the side of a building, picking their way through the fog until a group of the escaped inmates emerged out of the fog in front of them; she darted backward, pulling the boy with her as she covered him protectively.

"The Batman will rescue us," the boy whispered, crying. "I know him, he's my friend – he'll come…"

Rachel wanted to believe him, but the odds were against them and it was then that she spotted the body of a dead cop lying on the ground nearby; as the lunatics drew closer, smiling madly, she quickly grabbed the gun, fumbled the safety off and took a deep breath as she covered the boy's eyes with one hand and aimed the gun with the other.

"Don't peek, ok?" she whispered as Zsaz stepped forward and she started to pull the trigger.

At that _exact_ moment, Batman arrived, knocking the nearest lunatic to the ground, grabbed both Rachel and the boy, and shot back up into the air.

* * *

Meanwhile, Gordon climbed on top of the batmobile, pushed a button on the remote, and almost fell off when the canopy opened. "This is Gordon," he said into his radio. "Prepare to lower the bridge." And then he climbed inside the car.

* * *

Batman set both Rachel and the boy, who was excited by the sight of the dark knight, on the roof.

"Told you he'd come," said the little boy, his excitement briefly overriding the intense fear.

After wrapping the boy in her coat, Rachel turned to the dark knight, who was now heading for the edge of the roof. "Wait!" she called and he stopped, turning to face her. "You could die," she pointed out. "At least tell me your name."

Batman stared at her for a moment and then spoke in his raspy voice. "It's not who I am underneath," he said, touching his chest. "But what I do that defines me."

Rachel gasped and stepped forward, recognizing her own words instantly. "Bruce?"

Instead of answering, Batman free fall, his cloak flapping behind him as he slid his gloves into the activating pockets; the cloak went rigid, smashing the wind like a parachute as he used his arms to control his cloak, not simply arresting his fall, but gliding gracefully like a hand glider.

* * *

Ra's was overseeing the operation of the emitter being hoisted onto the train when the screaming suddenly got louder and he turned to see a shadowy shape heading toward him, and was unsurprised when Batman landed in front of him, angry eyes glaring out of the cowl.

 _`"I see you took my advice about theatrically literally,"`_ Ra's commented, his voice muffed by the mask. _`"Don't you think?"`_

"It ends here," Batman growled.

 _`"For you and the police, maybe,"`_ said Ra's, unconcerned. _`"My fight, however, lies with the rest of Gotham."`_ And he turned to go. _`"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a city to destroy,"`_ he added, wrapping his hand around a rope.

The dark knight moved forward. "I can't beat two of your pawns?" he questioned referring to the two ninjas standing nearby.

Ra's shrugged as two more ninjas dropped down onto the platform. _`"As you wish."`_ And the rope was pulled up, taking him with it.

Batman tackled the nearest ninja and they fell to the ground, the other three following after him, and soon he was fighting all three at once.

* * *

Now inside the batmobile, Gordon was startled when the onboard computer spoke in a female voice, and a control stick was unfolded for him to use.

 _`"GPS is online."`_

Warily, he started the engine, turned the car around, and followed the instructions of the computer the best he could.

* * *

Batman fought the ninjas, using the skills taught to him by Ra's against them; at one point he pulled out his grapple gun, only to have one of the ninjas knock it out of his hand with a chain. It wasn't long until all four ninjas were lying on the ground unconscious, and the dark knight began searching for his grapple gun when shadowy figures started toward him.

From all sides came inmates, residents of the Narrows, and even a few cops, all of whom were suffering from the fear toxin, and to them, the Batman was a twelve-foot shadowy devil with wings, fiery eyes, and fire coming out of his mouth, too.

' _This isn't good,'_ Batman thought, still searching for his grapple gun while keeping a wary eye on the growing crowd of people.

* * *

Ra's climbed aboard the train, where the emitter was already locked in place and was still running at full power. "Gentlemen," he said, pulling off his mask and moved toward the front of the car and toward the driver's position as the three ninjas shut the door and removed their own masks.

* * *

Meanwhile, Batman soon found himself trying to fight off the people as they began ganging up on him, trying to tear him apart.

* * *

Ra's went to the control panel, started the engine, and got the train moving; down below, the attackers were attacking Batman, when he heard the train start up, and spotted his grapple gun, which was resting between the feet of one of the attackers.

Grabbing it, the dark knight knocked away enough of the attackers to aim the grapple gun and fired it up at the moving train; seconds later, he was yanked into the air with one attacker still clinging to him, but the guy soon lost his grip and fell back to the ground as Batman was towed out of sight.

* * *

Loeb and was talking to an officer when he noticed that the nearest bridge was being lowered. "Who the _hell_ authorized this?" he demanded when the train shot past and the manholes in the immediate area were shot upwards as the water was vaporized, and his jaw dropped when he saw the Batman clinging to a cable attached to the underbelly of the train.

Loeb was then forced to dive for cover when the batmobile came roaring over the lowered bridge, and he stared after it. _'If the Batman is connected to the train, then_ who _is driving his car?!'_

* * *

Gordon was death gripping the controls, wincing when he almost ran over the commissioner, and tried to concentrate on driving while the GPS was informing him that Wayne Tower was three miles away.

* * *

While Batman was struggling with the cable, grunting every time he collided with something, the emitter continued vaporizing the water, and the technicians at Wayne Tower were freaking out at what they were seeing on their screens.

"What's that?" one of the technicians asked, alarmed.

"The pressure's moving along the mains," the head technician realized with growing fear. "Blowing all the pipes…some kind of chain reaction…"

"Where is it moving?"

"Towards us."

* * *

Meanwhile, Gordon and the GPS were following the train tracks, trying to get ahead of the train itself, and Gordon peered out the window at one point, spotting the Batman, who was still swinging through the air under the train as more and more water was vaporized, sending the people in the streets running for their lives.

* * *

After a few tries, the dark knight managed to attached the grapple gun to the buckle of his belt, hit the button, and shot through the air toward the train; smashing through a window, he entered the train and quickly took out the three ninjas. Hearing the commotion behind him, Ra's turned around in time to see Batman crouching on top of the emitter.

"You!" Ra's growled, drawing his sword from his cane, and the two warriors launched themselves at each other, the dark knight blocking the blade with his gauntlet, sparks striking off the metal scallops.

* * *

Down on the streets, Gordon drove through an underground parking garage and winced as the batmobile took out several parked cars. "Sorry," he muttered; the good news was that he was finally ahead of the train, but he knew it wouldn't be very long before it reached Wayne Tower at the speed it was going.

* * *

Inside the train, Ra's and Batman continued fighting as the train kept flying down the tracks, getting closer and closer to Wayne Tower; he swung his sword at the dark knight, who trapped the blade between the scallops of both gauntlets.

"Familiar," said Ra's dryly, having seen this move before. "Don't you have anything _new_?"

"How about _this_?" Batman grunted as he yanked his arms in opposite directions, breaking Ra's sword in two.

Startled, the older man stumbled backward into the emitter, and Batman ran for the control panel; he was reaching for the controls, when Ra's jumped him from behind and as they struggled, the dark knight slammed a piece of the broken blade into the controls.

* * *

Meanwhile, Gordon pulled up a few feet from Wayne Tower and wondered how he was going to stop the train, which wasn't that far behind now.

* * *

Inside Wayne Tower, the technicians were watching as the pressure got closer and closer to their location.

"Everybody out!" the head technician ordered. "Out of the building!"

"But-"

"We're _sitting_ on the hub- she's gonna blow and blow big, understand?"

* * *

On the train, Batman and Ra's continued fighting, falling over the emitter several times and breaking the rest of the windows on either side of the train car as the dark knight forced Ra's deeper into the train and far away from the control panel.

* * *

Gordon was startled when the interior of the car began to change and his seat started moving.

 _`"Weapon systems activated."`_

"Oh!" Gordon yelped as he was pulled forward by the steering wheel and onto his stomach in the nose of the car; outside said car, a homeless guy walked up, impressed.

"Nice ride."

* * *

Inside the train, Batman and Ra's kept up their fight, punching and kicking each other as hard as they could, neither getting the upper hand until Ra's did a spin kick that knocked the dark knight flat on his back, and the older man planted himself on his chest.

* * *

Unsure if he was doing it right, Gordon armed the weapons, aiming them at the pillars that held the train tracks up, and fired – missing the pillar by inches, and the guy outside the car quickly backed up.

Quietly cursing, Gordon tried lining up the targeting system again. "Dammit."

* * *

Meanwhile, Ra's wrapped his hand around the exposed part of Batman's neck and began choking him. "Don't be afraid, Bruce," he taunted as the dark knight struggled against his grip.

* * *

Gordon lined up the targeting system again and prepared to fire. "Come on, come on," he muttered, firing the weapons again, and this time actually did some damage so that the pillar holding up the track creaked, but it wasn't enough, and he got ready for one final try as the train drew closer and closer.

* * *

Ra's sneered at Batman's attempts to break his grip. "You are just an ordinary man in a cape!" he declared. "That's why you couldn't fight injustice and that's why you can't stop this train!"

"W-who said anything about stopping it?" Batman gasped, and Ra's looked up, confused, and saw that the broken blade from his own sword was jammed into the brake panel.

* * *

"Come on, come on," Gordon muttered, aiming once again and fired; this time he managed to blow up the train supports. "Yes!" and when the tracks began to collapse, he realized that he was too close and was relieved when the computer put him back in the proper position so that he could get out of the way.

* * *

Taking advantage, the dark knight broken Ra's grip, flipped the older man over, and pinned him to the floor, clutching two bat-shaped blades in one first. "You never learned to mind your surroundings!" he snarled, throwing the words back in his former teacher's face.

Ra's stared up at his former student as the train drew closer and closer to the place that the track had once been. "Have you finally learned to do what is necessary?" he asked calmly.

"I won't kill you," Batman told him, "but I don't have to _save_ you." He then revealed that he was holding two bombs; he threw one at an intact window, destroying it, and then the second bomb to destroy the connection between the two cars.

Ra's sat up, just as the dark knight made his cloak go rigid, and the wind yanked out of the train car and into the air; the older man turned to face the front of the train, saw the gap in the tracks, and shut his eyes, accepting his fate.

* * *

The train shot off the monorail, crashed down into Wayne Plaza, digging through the concrete/metal roofing, causing marble to shatter into dust clouds, and parked cars exploded as both the train and the emitter disintegrated into burning rubble just short of the entrance to Wayne Station.

* * *

In the control room of the water board, the remaining technician opened one eye and then other when he realized that the pressure had dropped to zero and the alerts stopped, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

The danger was over.

* * *

In Wayne Plaza, the canopy of the batmobile opened and Gordon stood up, looked around at the burning remains of the train, and then looked upward, just in time to see Batman soar over in a high bank, riding the thermals.

Stunned and relieved that the city was saved, he waved up to the dark knight as he flew out of sight.

They had done it. They had saved Gotham.

* * *

Later that night, the area around Wayne Plaza was evacuated by the police, and the whole area was roped off with yellow caution tape; when the night guard was busy elsewhere, several shadowy figures slipped out of the darkness, under the tape, and toward the still burning rubble.

The black-garbed figures used specialized tools to search the rubble until one of them waved the others over, having found what they wanted; working quickly and quietly, the figures dug through the burning rumble until they extracted a badly burnt shape, which was only vaguely human.

More black-garbed figures arrived with additional equipment, carefully and gently placed the shape into a dark container, which was sealed, and then they quickly disappeared back into the shadows, leaving no sign that they had been there.

* * *

A/N: The city has been saved! Go Batman! Wahoo! R&R everyone!


	13. d EPILOGUE: REBUILDING

Batman Begins: The First Mission

A/N: Here's the final chapter story, which I hope you all have been enjoying, and I'll see you all later for whichever story I choose to post next week.

Read, review, and enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from _Batman_ or from _Batman Begins;_ I only own the characters that I created.

* * *

 **EPILOGUE: REBUILDING**

The next morning, construction crews were busy clearing the rubble, and Lucius, wearing a white hard hat, was busy supervising; just then Earle arrived at the site, and stalked toward Lucius with a livid expression.

Lucius saw him approach, and tapped the hard hat he was wearing on his head. "This is a hard hat area," he warned.

" _What_ are you doing here, Fox?" Earle demanded angrily, ignoring the warning. "I seem to remember firing you."

Lucius nodded and gestured to the cleanup operation. "Might be something to do with my new job as head of Wayne Enterprises," he answered and silently enjoyed Earle's shock expression. "Didn't you get the memo?"

"Apparently he didn't," Philip remarked, walking up and was wearing an identical hard hat. "Bill, you should get a hard hat before you either get hurt or someone throws you out."

Earle ignored him, glaring outright at Lucius. "Whose authority?" he demanded furiously.

Instead of answering, Lucius and Philip both pointed at a familiar Rolls Royce that was idling nearby, and Earle stormed toward it; Lucius and Philip both quietly smiled, and turned back to their work.

Reaching the car, Earle banged on the window until Bruce way rolled it down with an inquiring look. "Yes?"

"You _think_ you have authority to decide who runs this company, Bruce?" Earle demanded loudly.

Bruce shrugged. "It is _my_ company."

"Not anymore," Earle countered smugly. "Wayne Enterprises went public a week ago-"

"And I bought most of the shares," Bruce interrupted. "A _controlling_ interest in fact," he added while Earle stared at him, shocked. "Through various charitable foundations, trusts and so forth…" as he spoke, Alfred was smiling in the front seat. "Look, it's all a bit technical," he continued, "but the important thing is… _my_ company's future is secure." Smiling at the older man's speechless expression, he nodded to Alfred, and they drove off.

* * *

Once they had put some distance from the construction site, Alfred handed Bruce the morning paper.

"Batman may have made the front page," he announced, "but Bruce Wayne got pushed to page 8."

Bruce took the newspaper, opened to page 8 and chuckled at the title "Drunken Billionaire burns down house", which was located under a black/white photo of the ruins of Wayne Manor. "Well, the important news is on the front page, and that's what matters. And as for what they say about me, our home won't be ruins forever."

Alfred nodded, knowing that his young charge was right.

* * *

Later that same day, Alfred was supervising the workers, who were sifting through the smoking ruins of what was once Wayne Manor, and nodded to Rachel when she arrived, directing her to what was left of the backyard; she was glad that she was wearing her traditional boots as she picked her way through the smoking remnants of the greenhouse, and found Bruce, who was hammering a board across the disused well.

Bruce looked up, having heard her coming thanks to the soot-stained broken glass on the ground, nodded to her, and then turned back to the well. "Do you remember the day I fell?"

Rachel nodded, remembering it all too clearly. "Of course," she recalled. "I was _so_ scared for you." She then looked from the well to him. "I've spent a lot of time being scared for you."

"Rachel…I'm-" Bruce began.

"No, Bruce," she interrupted. "I'm sorry. The day Chill died – I said terrible things…"

" _True_ things," Bruce added, recalling that day. "Justice is about more than revenge."

Rachel smiled slightly. "I never stopped thing about you," she admitted "…about us…when I heard you were back…I started to hope-" she was then cut off when Bruce kissed her, and she returned the kiss for a moment before pulling back with a regretful expression. "Then I found out about your mask."

"Batman's just a symbol, Rachel," Bruce assured her.

Rachel shook her head and gently brushed his face with her fingers. " _This_ is your mask," she explained. "Your real face is the one criminals now fear. The man I loved…the man who vanished…never came back at all." And could relate with his heartbroken expression. "But maybe he's still out there somewhere," she continued. "Maybe one day, when Gotham no longer needs Batman. I'll see him again."

This gave Bruce hope as he glanced at the newly covered well. "As I say there, I _knew_ …I could sense it," he muttered.

"What?" Rachel asked.

He looked back at her, taking her hand. "That things would never be the same."

* * *

Once the well was completely sealed up, Bruce and Rachel walked together through the ruins.

Rachel shook her head with a small smile. "Well, you proved me wrong."

"About what?" Bruce inquired.

"Your father would be proud of you," Rachel responded. "Just as I am." And she started walking away while Bruce crouched down and dug through the debris until he pulled out his father's stethoscope; she then stopped and turned back. "What will you do?" she asked, referring to the remains of the manor.

Bruce glanced at the ruins and then looked back at her. "I'm going to rebuild it just the way it was," he said honestly, purpose in his eyes. "Brick for brick."

Rachel nodded and then walked off; Bruce stared after her, wistfully when Alfred walked up.

" _Just_ the way it was, sir?" the older man asked.

Bruce turned to him. "Yes, why?" he asked as they walked, side-by-side, toward the smoking ruins.

"I thought we might take the opportunity of making some improvements to the foundation," Alfred suggested.

Bruce quickly caught on what his old friend meant. "In the south-east corner?" he guessed.

Alfred nodded, smiling. " _Precisely_ , sir."

* * *

A few nights later, a new sign appeared in the sky high above Gotham…it was a bat symbol that was being beamed onto the clouds by way of a spotlight that was on the roof of the police station, and a bat-shaped metal stencil was bolted to it; standing nearby, Gordon was sipping coffee from a styrofoam cup when there was a rapping sound on metal, and he turned to see that the dark knight was standing on the other side of the spotlight.

"Nice," said Batman, nodding to the signal.

"Couldn't find any mob bosses to strap to the light," s aid Gordon, finishing his coffee and crushing the cup; he then turned the searchlight off so that the two men were staring at each other in the dark.

"Well, sergeant?" the dark knight asked.

"It's _lieutenant_ , now," Gordon corrected him, having been caught off-guard by the promotion, but was pleased, too. "Commissioner Loeb had to promote me. And he had to disband the task force hunting _you_. Amazing what saving a city can do for your image."

Batman nodded. "Then things are better."

Gordon nodded. "You've started something," he confirmed. "Bent cops are running scared, hope on the streets…" he then trailed off thoughtfully, recalling of how quickly Flass had resign after the incident in the Narrows.

"But?" the dark knight inquired.

"But there's a lot of weirdness out there right now," Gordon explained, "the Narrows is _lost_ …we still haven't picked up Crane or half the inmates of Arkham that he freed…"

"We will," Batman promised. "Gotham will return to normal."

"Will it?" Gordon asked, skeptically. "What about escalation?"

Batman didn't know what he meant. "Escalation?" he echoed.

" _We_ start carrying semiautomatics," Gordon explained, " _they_ buy automatics… _we_ start wearing Kevlar, _they_ buy armor-piercing rounds…"

The dark knight nodded, getting the idea, but he could sense that there was something else going on. "And?"

Gordon stepped closer. " _And_ …you're wearing a mask and jumping off rooftops…" he pulled an small bag out of his pocket. "Take this guy…" he began "…armed robbery, double homicide…got a taste for theatrics, like you…" he handed Batman the bag, which had a playing card inside. "Leaves a calling card."

Batman turned the card over, revealing it to be a joker card. "I'll look into it," he promised, handing the bag back before stepping up onto the balustrade.

"I never said thank you," Gordon told him.

The dark knight looked back at him, his cloak billowing around him with the lights of Gotham lighting up the night sky. "And you'll never have to." He then dropped from the rooftop, gliding on the night wind, and Gordon couldn't help but smile.

The dark knight was on the job.

* * *

In a different part of the city, a tall man in a fancy business suit stood on the balcony of a tall building and was looking over the glittery city, having seen the bat symbol in the sky earlier.

' _This does not bore well,'_ he thought behind the white owl-like mask he wore over his face and turned slightly as another man, also dressed nice and wore a similar mask over his face approached. _`"Well?"`_

 _`"Bruce Wayne has taken control of Wayne Enterprises and the police have called off the hunt for the Batman,"`_ the second man reported. _"What should we do, sir?"`_

 _`"For now, nothing,"`_ the first man answered. _`"Our plans will be delayed…for now. But the time will come when we shall take our city back. Let the others know."`_

The second man nodded and walked away to inform a group of masked people waiting nearby while the first man turned back to stare at the city.

' _One day, the city will belong to the Court again. One day…'_

* * *

A/N: I dare you all to guess who is plotting and wearing owl-like masks in that last part. R&R everyone!


End file.
